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Rhodes & McClure Publishing Co. 
1 900. 

Libr«r> of Cofi<4,-o*« 

"Two (:(»»»ieF ^E^Fivfo 
NOV 19 1900 


Oehv«f«d to 

DEC 6 1900 


Entered according to act of Congress in the year igoo by 

Cal Ogburn, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D C 

All Rights Reserved. 

To my Wife 
Who for two deeades has 

Traveled Lifes Highway 
With me 
Dividing my sorrow 

And multiplying my joy 
These ' 'Serm.ons'" 

Are affectionately inscribed 
By the Author. 


— o — 

The twofold purpose of preaching I apprehend to be 
that of imparting instruction in truth and righteousness, 
and in inducing the people to exemplify the teaching they 
have received by the performance of deeds of love and 
mercy, and in building up Christian character by culti- 
vating all the nobler attributes of the soul — and that 
style of preaching is best that accomplishes these pur- 
poses best. 

Illustrative preaching has always appealed to the 
popular mind. George Whitefield would not have stirred 
the people as he did if he had only offered them doctrine 
and dogma. Rowland Hill would have had compara- 
tively little success if it had not been for his aptness and 
originality in illustrating his sermons. Spurgeon's epi- 
gramatical sayings and "Feathers for Arrows" assisted 
him greatly in gaining and holding the attention of the 
thousands to whom he preached. Moody without his 
anecdotes would have been in a large measure shorn of 
his power to attract and hold the multitudes that every 
where greeted him. Gough's magical temperance addres- 
ses, that so moved and moulded the masses, if it had 
not been for the wealth of illustration from real life — 
both humerous and pathetic — that he poured into them, 
would have lacked half their charm and half their power. 

There was One of old, ''who spake as never man 
spake," of whom it is recorded that "the common people 
heard him gladly" and he inculcated great truths and 
taught revolutionizing doctrines by the use of homely 


illustrations. His matchless parables were concerning a 
grain of mustard seed, buried treasury, a lost coin, new 
cloth on an old garment, wheat and tares, a barren fig 
tree, lilies of the field — illustrations that the orthodox 
Rabbis would have considered below their dignity to 
use in giving instruction to the people were employed 
by this Masterful Teacher to set forth clearly great 
principles never before so fully revealed and elucidated 
to the world. 

Dr. Guthrie, than whom there is no better authority, 
for he demonstrated in actual practice what he affirms, 
said, "Illustrative preaching is intended as well for the 
unlearned as for the learned, for converting the unlet- 
tered poor, whose souls are as precious in God's sight as 

those of philosophers and kings A story in a 

sermon, like a float, keeps it from sinking ; like a nail, 
fastens it in the mind ; like the feathers of an arrow, 
makes it strike ; and like the barb makes it stick." 

As for these "Illustrated Sermons" — if the title may 
properly be given to them — some of which were written 
while I was serving as chaplain of the Nineteenth 
Legislative Assembly of Arizona and others since, I only 
express a hope that at least a few grains of wheat may 
be found among the chaff. The only claim that is made 
for them is that they are original. 

The more than three score poets — many of whom are 
of national reputation — who have so kindly contributed 
especially to this volume have placed the author and the 
many appreciative readers of their verses under great 
obligations to them. 

The Author. 



Liberating Potential Energy . 17 

Love's Reward 20 

Selfhood Revealed 23 

Ingratitude 26 

Autumn Foliage — Dead Leaves 

and Hopes 30 

Two Games 33 

Refractory Quartz 35 

A Corrupt Tree 38 

A Backsliden Ranch 41 

' 'No Ice" 44 

An Aspiring Foothill 46 

The Stagnant Pool and the 

Rainbow 49 

Two HandsfuU of Corn 52 

Repairing the Old House 55 

Christmas Day — Observations 

and Reflections 58 

Firey Serpents 63 

Co-operation 66 

Good Advice from an Unex- 
pected Source 69 

Attending One's Own Funeral. 73 

The Fault-finding Bucket 78 

Wandering Away from Home. 82 

Longing for Rest 87 

"Put Out Your Lights" 91 

The Truth Confessed Unwit- 
tingly. 93 

Destroying to Save 95 

Retributive Justice 97 

Insincerity 100 

Rivers of Water 102 

Getting the Correct Time 104 

The Indian Mother Comforted 107 
Facts as Idle Tales — Therefore 

Incredible iii 

Saint Martin and the Impostor 115 

Gossiping Flowers 118 

Guilty and Defenseless 122 

Polish Pirates 125 

Saving the Gold. . 127 

Remarkable Transformations. . 129 

The Quarrelsome Watch 131 

Kibroth-hattaavah 135 

The Lost Child 138 

The Laborer and His Burden. 140 

The Old Foundation 142 

Two Trees with Two Desires. . 144 

"Not Peace, but' a Sword". . . . 147 

Pine Creek Caverns 150 

Implicit Obedience 153 

The Cross Above the Fog . 157 

Light and Joy 161 

Investing in Corner Lots 167 

Air Castles 169 

Different View-points 173 

Egotistica Ego 176 

Mountains and Foothills 181 

Impossible Possibilities 185 

Wisdom too Dearly Bought. . . 190 

Two Peach Trees 192 

Perseverance Rewarded 294 

The Mantle of Charity 199 

Life-Giving Fountains 200 

Reverie and Revelation 203 

A Complaining Steamship. .... 210 

Prospector and Capitalist 214 

Two Villainous Old Hags 217 

Building Influenced by Music. 222 

Blessings in Disguise 225 

Pictographic Writing 228 

Not All a Dream 231 

Will it Pay ? 235 

The Stranded Vessel 236 

Two Conservative Old Farmers 242 


The Broken Pear Tree 245 

At the Summit of the Divide. . 248 

"I Didn't Do It" 252 

An Insecure Building 255 

The Old Harp 257 

Being Saved by Hope 261 

Unsought Knowledge Imparted 266 
The Architect of a Famous 

Building 268 

Complex Circles 272 

Foul Streams Cleansed 276 

Mountain and Valley 279 

A Wise Decision 282 [ 

Clouds without Water 286 

Led by a Little Child 290 , 

The Omniscient Student 294 ' 


Two Springs 399 

Success 302 

"Life's Short and Checkered 

Journey" 308 

Imbecile Boy 313 

The Poorest Man in the World 316 

Stormy at Eventide 318 

The Maze and the Highway. . . 320 

House Damaged by Fire 323 

An Improved Water Filter. . . . 327 

The Old Peddler 330 

An Expensive Boquet 333 

The False Telegram 335 

Wild Morning-glories 338 

Now or Never 340 

The Mirage 344 



The Joy of Service 19 

"My Mother's Been Praying." 22 

Weaving 25 

"Not to Myself Alone." 28 

Dependence 29 

What Life Hath 32 

More Workers for Christ 34 

To Win the World 34 

Northland 36 

Gethsemane 37 

A Prayer 41 

A Song of Cheer 43 

A Fashionable Prayer 44 

The Apple Tree 48 

The Past is O'er 51 

Brave Calm 51 

Seedtime 54 

The Snowbird 54 

Thine Evermore 57 

Two Taverns 57 

Christmas 62 

Little Men 65 

A Nearer Heaven 68 

The Inner Heaven 69 

"When Morning Appears"... 71 

A Song of Faith 72 

What I Live For 77 

Just Be Glad 81 

' 'Nothing but Leaves ' 85 

Some Day 86 

At Rest 89 

Yes, They'll Meet Us 90 

Twilight 92 

' 'The Evening and theMorning" 93 

Peace, Be Still 94 

The Earthquake 96 

Forecast 99 

Again and Again loi 

Imitation 102 

The Birth of Christ 104 

Prayer 107 

As We Pass 109 

Gethsemane no 

My Lord and My God ! 113 

"And He Was Not, for God 

Took Him" 114 

The Lord's Day 114 

The Unbeliever 116 

A Vision of the Night 117 

The Tongue 121 

The Great Running Account. . 124 

O Rock of My Salvation 124 

"Lo. I Am With You" 126 

Truth 128 

God's Plans 228 

Fishers of Men 131 

The Fir Tree 134 

Trust On! 138 




His Monument 139 

Folly and the Fall 141 

My Castle 143 

A Contrast 146 

Going up the Grade 149 

"The Heavens Declare". ... 152 

If I Could Have Heard 156 

The Creed of the Agnostic 158 

Cradle Song of Faith 159 

Light from Above 160 

Sunrise on the Desert 165 

Curfew's Ringing 166 

Worthwhile 168 

Broken Threads 172 

Coronation 175 

The Planted Field 175 

If I Should Die To-night 180 

True Fellowship 183 

The Message of the Mountains 184 

The Vanished Year 139 

Sympathy 192 

Light and Darkness 193 

The Common Royalty 196 

In Secret 199 

My Friend to Be 202 

The Grace of God 209 

Hopeful , 212 

Purpose, 213 

An Invocation 216 

Christ Is Risen 220 

The Awaking 221 

An Easter Prayer 221 

The Drunkard's Lament 224 

Idols of Clay 227 

A Song of the Sea 230 

If We Knew 234 

"Never Soars so High Again". 238 

Jesus Saves 241 

My Dearest Lord 241 

Do Your Work Early 244 

A Prayer 244 

What A Friend .^. . . . 247 

Unfulfilled 250 


If I Could Live Some Days 

Again 251 

Alone 254 

What We Build 256 

Bring Flowers 260 

Hopes Promise 265 

Humility -?68 

Reward 271 

Anticipation and Realization . . 271 

God's Power and Love 275 

An Outcast 278 

A Prayer of the Hill Country. . 280 

Communion 281 

The Gifts of True Love 284 

Corn 285 

A Sunbeam 290 

Children Coming Home 292 

Got Wheels In His Head 297 

Crumbs 301 

The Village Lad at Play 306 

Shall I Ever be Satisfied ? 307 

Days of My Youth 310 

The Burial of Israel 310 

When I Am Dead 312 

The Little Brook 315 

Bittersweet 315 

Service 315 

The Law. . . 315 

Not All the Gold in Klondike. . 317 

He Careth for Me , 319 

My Father's Care 322 

Losses 324 

Jerusalem 326 

Jesus 329 

The Soul's Anchor 330 

A Vision of the Night 330 

In the Valley of Shadow 332 

Only Trust Him 334 

"Don't Look at the Water 337 

Ebb-Tide 343 

Blossom Taught 345 

A Prayer, 347 

When I Awaken , 347 



Adams, A. R. 

Aten, Aaron Prince, 

Brunk, Alfred. 

Bronaugh, Grace Pearl. 

Bolton, Sarah K. 

Boyer, Edward E. 

Blanchard, Charles 

Bulfin, O. J. 

Davison, Ida B. 

Dickinson, Martha Gilbert. 

Dever, Mrs. Mattis Doak. 

Dysart, Stella Glanton. 

Dixon, Will H. 

Ellis, J. Breckenridge. 

Ellis. J. W. 

Ferguson, Eugene Clay. 

Fletcher, Lisa A. 

Gibbs, Florence Alt. 

Garrison; Arthur O. 

Gates, Mrs. Merrill E. 

Grant, Sue E. 

Goodwin, Grace Duffield. 

Hallock, G. B. F. 

Henderson, Adah Torrey. 

Holdsworth, Helen W. 

Hurlbut, Cyrus. 

Kiser, S. E. 

Lippmann, Julie M. 
Lucey, Thomas Elmore. 
Moore, W. T. 
Markham, Edwin. 
Nicholson, Meredith. 
Newton, Mettie Crane. 
Palmer, Wm. K. 
Putnam, Frank. 
Preston, R. B. 
Pomeroy, Edward N. 
Riley, James Whitcomb. 
Rightsell, L. T. 
Rains, Helen A. 
Richards, Annie Russell. 
Rigdon, Mrs. India Scott. 
Sawyer, R. H. 
Scott, Winfield, L. 
Thompson, L. O. 
Troland, John. 
Warfield, Ethelbert D. 
Wells, Amos R. 
Wade, Mrs. B. B. 
Wells, Rose Martin. 
Wilson, Mrs. Anne Cable. 
Wilkinson, William Cleaver 
Woody, Emma G. 



Selected Especially for This Work. 




Cal Ogburn, "The Arizona 
Evangelist" (Frontispiece). 

The Terti Waterfall 17 

After the Wreck 22 

Golden Leaves 30 

Christ At Gethsemane 37 

Alpine Hunter 46 

Listening to the Nightingale , . 51 

Picture of Health 58 

Morning 72 

Rustic Beauty 78 

Reminiscences 87 

Belated Traveler 93 

After Vespers . 100 

Landscape and Waterfall .... 102 
The Death of Minnehaha .... 107 

Marguerite 118 

Departure of the Fishermen . . 125 

Morning 134 

Picture of Tears 138 

The Plough 147 

Morning • 152 

Cross on the Mountain 157 

Prayer 160 

Crossing the Desert 165 

Off to America 169 

Evening Prayer 175 

The Deer Pass 184 


Mignon 189 

Lost Happiness 192 

Gethsemane 197 

Landscape on the Allier 203 

Dante and Matilda 212 

Resurrection 220 

Cattle in the Marsh 225 

Moonrise 230 

In the Moonhght 239 

Roses 250 

The Sign Painter 255 

Venetian Flower Girl 260 

Morning Prayer 265 

Senta 276 

Morning Prayer 284 

Madonna 290 

Love Dream 292 

The Meeting 306 

A Lesson in Boat-Building . . 308 

Stepping Stones 315 

The Tempest 318 

The Three Ages 322 

Portrait of Gladstone 327 

Easter Morning 334 

To the Rescue . ' 340 

Low Tide 343 

Lilacs 345 



Gen. 13:8 . . . 
,, 27: 22. . 
.. 37: 31-34 

Num. 11: 34. 
21:6. . 
,, 32: 23. . 

2 Sam. 15: 31. 

I Chron. 22: 7, 

Ps. 31: 12. . 
,, 55: 22. . 
,, 62: 3. . 
,, 90: 10. . 

107: 26, 39 
,, 119: 129. 
,, 119: 130. 

Prov. 3: 7. . 
,, 30: 8. 

Eccl. 2: 10, II 
2: 24, 26 

S. S. 5: 10, 16 

is. 2: 3. 

,, 9: 18 

,, 11: 6 

., 32: 2 

.. 35- 8 

,, 40: I 

.. 45: 22 

,. 52: 2, 3 

.. 55; I • • 

Jer. 11: 19 
,. 21: 8 . 


















Joel 2: 28 169 



4: 2 




4: 18, 22 153 

5: 30 95 

7: 17 38 

10: 34-36 147 

11: 28 87 

12: 34 93 

18: II 138 

23: 27 73 

26: 14-16 318 

,, 22 . 

.. 39 • 

,. 41 • 

27: 3-5 











16: 4 142 

16: 25 252 

24: II Ill 

Luke 9: 52-56 . 
10: 30-32 
11: 26 . . 
12: 2 . . . 

12: IS 

15: 17- 

John i: 40-42 49 

6: 26, 66 ... 100 

7: 37 200 

8: 12 91 

12: 24 52 

12: 42, 43 167 

19: 38 167 

20: 25 115 





Acts i: 17, 18 318 

,, 5: 14 181 

., 9: 26-28 118 

,, 20: 25-38 257 

,, 23: I 104 

Rom. 2: 16 228 

6: 17, 18, 21, 22 .... 129 

:, 8: 24 261 

8: 34 122 

12: 4, 5 131 

12: 4-8 . • 231 

,, 12: 10, II 44 

„ 12: 16 46 

12: 26 294 

1 Cor.i: 18 157 

I 28 313 

,, 3: 6 282 

.. 3: 9 66 

,, 3: 10 222 

,, 12: 14-27 176 

,, 12: 21, 22 131 

,, 13: 10-12 225 

13: 13 20 

2 Cor. 4; 18 344 

5; 17 55 

,, 6; 14 190 

,, 9: 6 242 

12: 15 299 

Gal. 4: 3-5 ... 239 

,, 6: 5 210 

,, 6: 9 ,.. 194 


Eph. 2: 12 125 

Phil. 3: 7 30 

,, 4; 10 58 

2 Thess. 3: 13 78 

1 Tim. 4: 8 302 

5: 22 245 

,, 6: 6; 302 

6; 20 127 

2 Tim. i: 3 104 

i: 10 217 

,, i: 14 127 

Tit. 2: 14 276 

Heb. 10: II 338 

,, 12: II 35 

James i: 15 235 

2 Pet. 2: 15, 16 69 

I John 2: I 122 

3: II • • • • 49 

,, 3: 20 272 

4"- 9. II • — 49 

Jude 12. . 286 

Rev. 8: 11 327 

21: 4 217 

., 21: 5 . . 55 

The Terti \\'aterfall. 
From the Painting by Gmelin. 


— :o: — 
Liberating Potential Energy. 

'Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of 
hosts." — Zcch. 4:6. 

The mill on the bank of a great irrigating canal, 
where the farmers in the valley brought their grain to 
have it made into flour, was idle because there was an 
insufficient supply of water in the canal. The large 
turbine wheel that drove the machinery had ceased to 
revolve. Where was usually such noise and blustle and 
industry, now all was silent as the grave. The old mill 
stood with its machinery all intact, but motionless. The 
grain stored in the bins and elevators, could not be 
converted into flour — there was no power — no water in 
the canal. 

Softly the light, airy snowflakes fell upon the mount- 
ains until there was an accumulation of congealed vapor 
lying upon their granite tops and in their rocky gorges 
like soft ermine robes wrapped about the bodies of great 
giants lying fast asleep under the magic spell of their 
own mightiness. Every drop of water, in the form of 
ice and snow, on the mountains, where the frost king 
reigned, was so much "potential energy, that is energy 



of position in relation to the work it is capable of per- 
forming," and presented an equal amount of actual force 
— power to produce motion, when properly applied. The 
old mill, realizing this, appealed to the north wind for 
assistance, so the wind blew fierce and cold on the 
mountains, and piled the snow in great heaps, and 
pushed it over the sides of deep canyons, and tossed it 
about from place to place until it was quite exhausted. 
But not a drop of water from the mountains reached the 
mill. In fact, the small volume of water in the canal 
decreased steadily from the time the north wind began 
to blow. 

Seeing the mistake it had made, the mill then 
appealed for assistance to the sun. He smilingly, and 
with unselfish interest consented at once to render the 
help asked for. So he began to pour his warm rays 
upon the ice and snow on the mountains, and to liberate 
the tiny drops of water there imprisoned, and to make 
their potential energy available for the machinery of the 
mill. Little rivulets. began to trickle down the sides of 
the mountains, and, converging, formed larger stream- 
lets, and these, as they sped on their way, became a river, 
from which water was diverted into the canal, the mill- 
wheels began to whir, and flour was manufactured to 
supply the hungry people v/ith bread — the staff of life — 
and all was due to the fact that potential energy had 
been converted into actual force and properly applied. 


The beneficent possibilities of human nature, like the 
potential energy of the snow on the mountains, is beyond 


the ability of man to measure when fully developed and 
properly directed. But this latent power for good cannot 
be made available by harsh means — ''not by might, nor 
by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of hosts." 
It is the truth when preached in love, as directed by the 
Holy Spirit, that develops the potential powers of the 
human heart, and makes them available for good. 



Not he who gives to me, but he 
Who teaches me to give, to me 
Brings richest stores of joy and peace. 
To give of self and all, and cease 
Not evermore to help and heal, 
Is Christlike both to be and feel. , 

My life with all it has of worth, 

I hold from God who gave it birth. 

'Tis not a treasure, rich and rare, 

To safely keep with anxious care, 

But one to be all freely spent 

For those to whom, through me, 'twas sent. 

Am I, therefore, denied all ease, 

With all content and things that please? 

Not so, for God is wondrous wise. 

In pleasing self no pleasure lies. 

But pleasing others for their good 

Brings nought but joy, nor ever could. 

There's nothing lost that's lost for Christ; 

The world for self hath not sufficed 

To satisfy the soul of man. 

In mercy God conceived the plan, 

That laber forth from love should spring, 

And love by laboring learn to sing. 

R. B. PRS8T0N. 

20 love's reward. 

Love's Reward. 

The greatest of these is love. / Cor. fj.'is- 

Some years ago, before the exodus to the Klondyke 
began, a young man, who had rambled all over the 
west from Montana to Arizona in search of gold, decided 
to go to Alaska, hoping to find among the frozen secrets 
of that illusive Eldorado the buried treasure of which he 
had fondly dreamed. But he was again doomed to 
disappointment. If he could have exchanged hardships, 
privations and suffering for gold, even at a great dis- 
count, he would have had an abundance of the precious 
metal, but these were so common and undesirable that 
none cared to buy his experience, though many, who have 
since learned the same lessons in Alaskan territory would 
have saved money by paying him liberally for the in- 
formation he could have given them. 

Poor and miserable in the extreme he found his way 
from the frigid regions of storm-swept Alaska to the 
'•Sunny south-land" of semi-tropic California. To add 
to his misery, his repeated disappointments had been 
followed by a career of intemperance. He had never 
known what it is to have a home, or to realize the 
blessedness of having some one to take an unselfish 
interest in his wellfare His affections were almost 
as cold as the frozen north he had left, and which he so 
detested that he wished he were able to blot from his 
heart its bitter memories. 

Living a few miles from Los Angeles was an uncle 
— his father's brother — whom he had not seen since he 
was a little boy "back in the states" — as Calif ornians 


speak of the East. To this hospitable home he came, 
and for the first time in his Hfe began to reahze the 
signification of mother and home, for his uncle's wife — 
one of those saints in Israel, who leave the world poorer, 
and make heaven richer, when they go home to God — 
was to him a mother. She loved the poor wanderer as 
she loved her own son. Forgave him when in his 
weakness he did wrong, and praised him when he re- 
sisted his besetting sin. Wept over him in sorrow and 
sincerity when he broke his resolutions to abstain from 
the use of intoxicants, and always remembered him be- 
fore God in her daily prayers. The work of reformation 
seemed slow — sometimes almost hopeless — till one day 
the nephew said: "Aunt, I have been intoxicated again 
and again, as you know to your sorrow, but, until 
recently, I have had no real desire or purpose to give up 
the intemperate life I have been living. I believe I have 
drunk every beverage that intoxicates, but without hav- 
ing any compunctions of conscience, such as I experience 
now. I have fully determined to reform. I can not 
drink a mother's tears, and yours have recently been in 
every cup I have* placed to my lips." Love had 
conquered at last. 


It is the utmost folly for any woman to voluntarily 
invite a life of sorrow by doing that which may be 
avoided, such as encouraging a husband to drink by 
being present at or in any way showing the least approval 
of wine suppers or banquets where any intoxicating 
beverage is served; or by marrying a man who is addicted 


to the use of strong drink ''to reform him." But if any 
woman has been placed by circumstances that could not 
be controled in the position of a wife who has a drunken 
husband, or a mother who has an intemperate son, she 
should always bear in mind that the greatest factor in 
bringing about a reformation is love. And it is well, in 
this connection, to remember the old adage that, "Pre- 
vention is better than cure." The greatest preventive 
of an intemperate life, or of a sinful course of any kind, 
is love. 



'T was a fearful gale in sixty-one; 

All England felt the shock 
When the Rising Sun, a stalwart brig, 

Struck on the Longrear Rock. 
The foaming wavts broke over her, 

Leaving her topmasts clear; 
And the men were clinging for their lives, 

Benumbed with cold and fear 

Frantic the people watched on shore; 

One mast swayed back, and fell; 
'Shoot out the life-line, quick, brave men, 

Or none will be left to tell 
The horrors of this awful night;" 

The other mast is gone; 
And slowly the men draw in the line; 

Ah! what is fastened on 
Like a heavy log? 'T is a lifeless boy! 

The women's eyes are red, 
As they weep for some other mother. 
And kiss the fair young head. 



He moves! he lives ! the sailor lad. 

Stand back, and give him air! 
Wipe off the salt sea from his lips, 

And smooth his tangled hair. 
He opens wide his glassy eyes; 

"Where am I?" faintly said; 
"You're saved, lad." "Where's the captain, — crew?" 

"Ah! all the rest are dead." 
He looks amazed, confounded, then. 

Raising his hands on high, 
"My mother has been praying!" says; 

"And heaven has heard her cry." 

O blessed faith in motherhood I 

That on life's wildest sea, 
Her voice can move the infinite 

Upon a bended knee. 



Selfhood Revealed, 

"The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of 
Esau." — Gen. 2j:22. 

The other day, just at the dusk of evening, a very 
intimate friend called to see me. I happened to be 
painting the floor of my front porch when she came and 
was, unfortunately, the first person she met. 

Clad in a misfit suit of cast-of^ clothing — the original 
color of which had been a dull brown, though now faded 
and bedaubed with paint of so many hues, tints, tinges 
and shades, that it might well have been styled, if there 
had been any style about it, a • 'variegated suit;" and 
wearing an antiquated slouch hat, the band of which 


rested upon my ears, while the dropping briin almost 
concealed my face. I was down upon my hands and 
knees applying the paint-brush with a deftness and 
alacrity that would have shamed a master artist, when 
my friend approached and in a very dignified and formal 
but courteous manner inquired of me if she could go into 
the house by the front door, or was there fresh paint on 
the floor of the porch so she could not enter? 

I am very frank to confess that my "garb," position 
and occupation just at that time were anything but those 
of a * 'clergyman," though of neither had I, under the 
circumstances, any reason to be ashamed. My occupa- 
tion, if not dignified and graceful, was at least humble 
and convenient, while my clothing was easy-fitting and 
well suited to the work I was doing. A double-breasted 
Prince Albert coat of conventional black, white satin 
cravat and silk hat, a la Dunlap would hardly befit a 
* 'practical house-painter" v/hen plying his trade. 

I presume that never before in all her life had my 
friend been greeted by her host on the threshold of his 
own dwelling, on bended knees, as she was on this 
occasion, but to my complete surprise she failed to 
recognize me! She thought I was "some painter," and 
only saw her mistake when I spoke to answer her query 
about entering the house. She knew me then, like Isaac 
of old knew Jacob, by my voice. 


In some way our identity will be revealed, and we 
shall be known by those characteristics that are really 
our own rather than by those we have assumed. The 


latter may deceive for a time, but sooner or later our 
real selfhood will consciously or otherwise manifest itself. 
The mask will be torn off. 

"To thine own self be true, 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou can'st not, then, to any one be false." 



My life is all a weaving 
Between my God and me; 
I may but choose tiie colors, — 
He worketh steadily. 
Full oft he weaveth sorrow; 
And I in foolish pride. 
Forget he sees the upper 
And I the under side! 

I choose my strands all golden, 

And watch for woven stars; 

I murmur when the pattern 

Is set in blurs and mars. 

I cannot yet remember 

Whose hands the shuttles guide; 

And that my stars are shining 

Upon the upper side. 

I choose my thread all crimson, 

And wait for flowers to bloom, 

For warp and woof to blossom 

Upon my little loom! 

Full oft I seek them vainly, 

And fret for them denied; — 

Tho' flowering wreaths and garlands 

May deck the upper side, 


My life is but a weaving 
Between my God and me; 
I see the seams, the tangles, — 
The fair design sees he! 
Then let me wait in patience 
And blindness, — satisfied 
To make the pattern lovely 
Upon the upper side. 




Ahithophel is among the conspirators with Absalom. 2 Sam. iS'31. 

The winter had been unusually severe, and the people 
who lived in sparcely settled neighborhoods on the 
western frontier had experienced great hardships from 
cold and insufficient food, clothing and shelter, though 
they had fared somewhat better than their domestic 

During the long, cold winter a great many cattle 
perished, and the few that survived, by browsing the 
elm and basswood trees that the farmers and frontiers- 
men felled for that purpose grew poorer and weaker 
when spring came and they could get here and there an 
occasional mouthful of fresh new grass. They became 
so weak that they could scarcely walk, and their owners 
would frequently find them lying utterly helpless and 
unable to rise. Calling on their neighbors for assistance 
they would go and help the poor creatures up, and offer 
them food and water, when the foolish animals would 
charge furiously on the men and continue to fight until, 
completely exhausted, they would fall and could not 
rise again without assistance. 



Sometime, alas, people act in a similar manner. 

A man is "down" financially and otherwise and 
friends help him to rise, when instead of being apprecia- 
tive of their kindness he turns upon them with the fury 
and treachery of a savage. His attacks are grossly 
malicious and frequently repeated as long as he is able 
to continue them. 

A son, in some "far country" of sin, is not only 
famine-stricken and friendless but has been prostrated 
by disease. His parents fly to his relief and nurse him 
back again to life when, Absalom like, he repays them 
with the basest ingratitude. 

A church is in poverty financially and spiritually, 
when a self-sacrificing man of God goes to their assist- 
ance. He works and prays night and day and at last 
"gets the church on its feet again," when the "ruling 
element" — the bossy minority, to be found in almost all 
congregations — attacks him and he is impaled on the 
sharp horns of hyper-criticism and merciless misrepre- 

Alas, that any man or woman, created in the likeness 
and image of God, and capable of doing good and of 
being grateful for favors and blessings bestowed, should 
be like "dumb, driven cattle!" — that Ahithophel and 
Absalom should ever conspire together, or cherish a desire 
for the beneficent king's dethronement. 




"Not to myself alone," 
The little opening flower transported cries, 
"Not to myself alone I bud and bloom: 
With fragrant breath the breezes I purfume, 
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes, 
The bee comes sipping, every eventide, 

His dainty fill: 
The butterfly within my cup doth hide 

From threatening ill." 

"Not to myself alone," 
The circling star which honest pride doth boast, 
"Not to myself alone I rise and set: 
I write upon night's coronal of jet 
His power and skill who formed our myriad host 
A friendly beacon at heaven's gate, 

I gem the sky, 
That man might ne'er forget, in every fate. 

His home on high." 

"Not to myself alone," 
The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, 
' 'Not to myself alone, from flower to flower, 
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower, 
And to the hive at evening weary come: 
For man, for man, the luscious food I pile 

With busy care. 
Content tf he repay my ceaseless toil 

With scanty share." 

"Not to myself alone," 
The soaring bird, with lusty pinion, sings, 
"Not to myself alone I raise my song; 
I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue, 
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings; 
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn. 

And God adore; 
I call the worldling from his dross to turn, 

And sing and soar." 


"Not to myself alone," 
The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way, 
"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide; 
I scatter health and life on every side, 
And strew the field with herb and floweret gay, 
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare, 

My gladsome tune; 
I sweeten and refresh the languid air 

In droughty June." 

"Not to myself alone:" — 
O man, forget not thou, — earth's honored priest, 
Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart, — 
In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part ! 
Chiefest of guests at Love's ungrudging feast, 
Play not the niggard; spurn the native clod; 

And self disown; 
Live to thy neighbor; live unto thy God; 

Not to thyself alone. 


High heaven stoops to draw the ocean-mist. 

The lowdy land looks skyward for its rain; 
The seasons need the sun to keep their tryst 

With earth, and make the dour world glad again. 
Deep-hidden well-springs feed the hungry soil, 

The river slakes its thirst at many streams; 
Night turns to day for realty and toil. 

The day to night for solacement in dreams. 

There is no thing in all creation free: 

One needs the other^all depend on God. 
The bird looks for it lodgement to the tree. 

The tree must fix its roots beneath the sod. 
Then, heart-I-love, no more in pride refuse 

My willing service — all I have to give. 
Were it for this alone, I still would choose, 

In spite of pain and poverty, to live. 



Autumn Foliage — Dead Leaves and Hopes. 

"What things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ, "-/'//z'/j' .7 

The autumn foliage was variegated and beautiful, 
like the complex hopes and inspirations of a noble youth. 
The leaves had been breathed upon by the Frost King, 
that queer, illusive old magician, and under his magic 
spell had been gradually changed from bright green to 
russet, brown, yellow and red. Nothing could have 
been added to make the trees of the forest more attract- 
ive to the eye than they were. There was not about 
them the beauty of budding springtime or of staid mid- 
summer. It was not the fascination of the beginning of 
life, nor of its full possession, but rather that of its de- 
cline, for there is — if not a charm — an indefinable some- 
thing about the incipient approach of death to the leaves 
of the forest that commands admiration. 

You look at some tall, symmetrical maple, wearing 
its cerements of many colors, and you think of the fable 
of the dying swan. Or your eyes rest upon some prime- 
val oak, clad in its variegated robe, and the approaching 
death of an old patriarch is suggested to your mind. 

The frost has done its work. The leaves are dying — 
the leaves only. The trees that produced the leaves are 
as much alive as ever. They are only being prepared 
by the loss of their foliage for another year's growth and 
another and larger crop of fruit. The changing, dying 
leaves had completed their work. The trees have power 
to produce more leaves — and at the proper time will do 
so — to assist in maturing the fruit of an additonal 
harvest. The old leaves are dead. 'Tis well. 

Golden Leaves. 
From the Painting by J. E. Grace. 



How attractive and necessary are our hopes and 
aspirations. Pathetically beautiful is their death. They 
were ours. We had begotten them, and fondly cherished 
them so lon^^! 

Hopes grow like buds develop in the spring, when 
the genial sun shines and the warm winds blow. Hope 
is not fruition. Our hopes and inspirations only assist 
us in maturing the harvest, then the chilly blast of disap- 
pointment is felt and our hopes perish. But we do not 
die with them. Where the old hopes were, that died 
and fell away like the leaves in autumn, there are re- 
vealed the buds of new and better hopes, and in due 
time these, coming to maturity, will assist in producing 
a larger crop of fruit — kind words and good deeds. 
Mourn not because the blighting frost of disappointment 
has struck you. The apostle Paul had many such 
experiences. What had been the means of gain he lost 
— for Christ. So let the old hopes perish — they can not 
give or sustain life. Their work is done. 




Life hath many a tender tinting 

Of forgotten tears; 
Life hath many a woeful lesson 

Garnered from the years; 
And we have stronger grown 
By the trials we have known; 

Though tomorrow 

Hath its sorrow — 
We have never walked alone. 

It is better that some sorrow 

Here should mark the way 
Than to find our each tomorrow 

Brighter than today. 
Blossoms spring through April showers, 
Harvest cometh after flowers; 

Although for years 

We sow in tears 
They shall thrive, those fields of ours. 

For the Master sees our sowing. 

Whether smiles or tears — 
He wiii leave them for the reaping 

Of our ripened years. 
By each action we are sowing — 
Wheat or tares are daily growing; 

Golden sheaves 

Or withered leaves — 
Which shall be the harvest's showing? 




Two Games. 

Andrew .... first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto 
him, We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ. 
And he brought him to Jesus. Jno. i .-40 — 42. 

There is a game in which rings made of iron, brass, 
rubber, or other suitable material, by being thrown acertain 
distance are placed around spikes driven into a board. 
Two or more persons may play the game at the same 
time, and the one placing the gratest number of rings 
nearest the center of the board is the winner. The 
nearer the players are to the board the easier, of 
course, it is for them to **ring the spikes," which is by 
no means easy, even experienced players having much 
difficulty to "ring the center" — which counts most in 
the game — when only a short distance away, but a no- 
vice or a child could go to the board and place every 
ring in the middle of the board. 


Our attempts at soul-winning are aptly illustrated by 
this game. We get far away from the souls we are 
endeavoring to save and occasionally toss a fragment of 
the gospel at them — when it is "our turn to play" — and 
if one is encircled by the saving power of Christ we 
congratulate ourselves upon our skill and good luck ! 

Oh, for personal contact in bringing men to Christ ! 
Andrew should go and bring his brother Simon to the 



More workers for Christ are needed today; 
Oh, who will respond to the call; 
The harvest is white, then, do not delay. 
For the night will come to us all. 

More workers for Christ is what the world needs, 
Not seekers for fame or for gold; 
But men, who will prove their faith by their deeds, 
And bring the lost ones into the fold. 




How shall we win the world to Christ ? 

Have our words availed, have our gifts sufficed? 

Have our prayers and pleading been enough? 

O, the way is long and the road is rough ! 

We may sit at the summit of Wisdom's peak 

And call to the climbers who toil and seek 

For the summit of Truth. We may rise and throw 

A rope of gold to the souls below, 

But unless we give them our strong right hand, 

Unless we are willing ourselves to stand 

On the perilous steep which their feet have trod, 

We never can win him to Christ — to God. 

When the rich no longer oppress the poor, 

When the mighty and fortunate cease to lure 

The feeble and fallen — when great and good 

Are bound in a cable of brotherhood. 

When the haughty grow humble, the bitter sweet, 

The world will turn upon hastening feet. 

Willing and glad to be led again 

By the way of truth which has made iis men ! 



Refractor}^ Quartz. 

"Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but 
grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of 
righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby." Ileb. 12: 1 1. 

The (luartz lyin^ on tlie "dump" appeared to the 
inexperienced eye to be only a heap of broken rock, but 
samples of it had been tested by the assayer and he had 
found it rich in gold and also "carrying" enough silver 
and copper to pay for mining the ore, although it was 
exceedingly hard and refractory. So the "claim" was 
bonded to a company of eastern capitalists and a mill 
was erected to crush the quartz. Day and night the 
heavy steel stamps thumped, and pounded and crushed 
the ore-bearing rock. Gradually each rough, refractory, 
granite-like piece of quartz lost its angularity, and as 
the pounding, crushing, grinding process continued, its 
identity disappeared entirely. It was no longer sharp, 
and jagged, and cutting, but had been reduced to powder. 
And while this was being done a stream of water was 
washing the finely pulverized quartz over a series of 
amalgam plates to which the gold, silver and copper 
adhered and were saved while the worthless particles 
of broken rock were carried away by the water. 

Tiie rough treatment to which the quartz was sub- 
jected was necessary that its inherent value might be 
extracted and be made available for use. But, oh, how 
it complained v/hile it was being crushed by the great 
steel stamps ! "Why not have allowed it to remain in 
the 'ledge' where nature placed it.^ For what purpose 
had it been removed and ground to powder? Was its 


intrinsic value not as great before it was pulverized and 
the precious metals extracted?" Yes, but its usefulness 
and utility v^ere impossible till the stamps had done their 


It is just so, many times, with people. In every 
man and woman there is more or less of inherent worth. 
Capacity and ability to be useful to themselves and 
others. But often before this intrinsic power to bless 
can be utilized or made available they must pass under 
the chastening rod. Afflictions, disappointments, bereave- 
ments, tribulations must do their work, and not in- 
frequently many and bitter are the complaints that are 
made while this chastening is going on, but ''afterward 
it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of righteousness unto 
them which are exercised thereby." 



As desolate as arctic night 

That drags the chain of tardy dawn 
Are those far wastes, devoid of light, 

Whereinto thou art gone. 

For Sorrow's North hath icy ways, 
Where pallid groups, without a plea, 

Endure the burden of the days 
In bitter company. 

Christ at Gethsemene. 
From the Painting by Hoffman. 


'Midst grief's grim solitudes they bide; 

Forgetfulness the goal they seek; 
While memory, keeping close beside, 

Strides strong when the are weak. 

Thank God, if, in the land of dole. 

Too sad for tears, too dark for dreams. 

At last upon thy night-bound soul 
Hope's wide aurora streams. 




Peace, ye winds, o'er night worlds weep- 
ing, while the Man of Galilee 

Prays for weaker brothers sleeping in 
His lone Gethsemane. 

Grander than the songs of sages runs the 
fiat through the ages. 

Graven deep on mortal pages — spoken by 
the Sufif'rer prone; 

"Not my will, but Thine, O, Father — not 
my will, but Thine be done !" 

Down from olden flowing Kedron, down 

from grim Golgotha's hill, 
Whisp'ring love to hearts deep ladened, 

they are singing, "Peace be still." 
Through the labyrinths of crosses, life's, 

ambitions bent with losses, 
Where Fate's tempest Hope's ship tosses, 

gleam the beams of Mercy's Sun, 
And the soft sweet words of comfort — 

"not my will, but Thine, be done." 


Louder grows the boom of battle, and the 

life-tide gurgles deep — 
"Taps" of doom in splendor's tattoo — 

crimson tears that mothers weep — 
Only love unthorns the roses, warms the 

wind when summer closes; 
Love that hides the sins of mortals, leads 

the poor, blind wander on 
Into God's supernal portals, where His 

will alone is done. 

Peace, ye winds o'er night-worlds weep- 
ing, for the Man of Galilee 

Long has loved the heedless sleeping in 
the dark Gethsemane. 

Sweeter than the songs of sages runs the 
fiat through the ages. 

Graven deep on mortal pages — spoken by 
the martyred One: 

"Not my will, but Thine, O Father — not 
my will, but Thine, be done !" 



A Corrupt tree, 

A corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. Matt. 7: 17. 
Let us destroy the tree with the fruit thereof. Jer. 11: 19. 

Some years ago it was my fortune, whether good or 
bad, to become the owner of a small ranch in "Our 
Italy" — as the southern part of California, on account of 
its salubrious climate, has been aptly styled. When 
making the purchase I observed a tree growing in the 
door yard and said to the man from whom I was making 
the purchase, *'Why have you permitted that tree to 
grow on your premises, for you have certainly recognized 


the fact that it matures many crops of seeds annually 
and that the wind scatters the seeds broad-cast over 
your own land and that of your neighbors causing much 
trouble and expense to eradicate the young trees that 
spring up from this wholesale seeding?" 

"You see," said he, in reply, "that the tree is sym- 
metrical and beautiful, its shade inviting, and its blos- 
soms always abundant and fragrant. I prevent the 
deleterious effects its harvests of ripened seeds would 
cause by going over the tree frequently and carefully 
removing the seed before they mature." 

"But," said I, "do you not find that a great deal of 
trouble, and each time the task greater than before, 
because the tree is larger and the harvest more plenti- 

"Yes," he replied, "it does require no small amount 
of both time and labor to remove the seed before they 
ripen, and each harvest is somewhat larger than the 
preceding one, but I have become attached to the tree, 
having planted and cared for it all these years, and do 
not object to the trouble." 

"Suppose," said I, "you should neglect or for some 
reason be unable to exercise this wholesome restraint 
even for a short time, would not the tree, with all of its 
commendable qualities — its pleasing appearance, and 
acceptable shade — forfeit all its right to live by just the 
one crop of seed it would mature.^* Would not the in- 
jurious effects of this single harvest more than counter- 
balance all the benefits that could be derived from it.? 
In other words, is not the tree naturally more potent for 
evil than for good!" 


To my somewhat circumlocutory, but at last, pointed 
questioning, he answered, "Yes, certainly, the baleful 
effects and the power of the tree to cause injury, when 
left to itself, would be much greater than the good that 
comes from it, but," he added, placing some emphasis 
on the personal pronoun of the first person, *'I have 
always controled it." 

And so he had, but the tree had been increasing 
constantly in its ability to produce a larger and larger 
harvest, when it should be left to itself. [ decided, after 
making the purchase, to have the tree removed at once 
— but neglected to do so, and when I visited the ranch 
again in a few weeks the largest crop of ripened seed 
the tree had ever been capable of bearing had been 
scattered far and wide ! 


Frequently a man will cultivate some appetite or 
passion under the false belief that he is able to control 
it, until, in an unguarded moment, it asserts the mastery 
over him. This is especially true of intemperance. The 
''social glass" has prepared the way for the "flowing 
bowl," and the awful harvest of misery and wretchednes, 
for himself and others, that inevitably follows. The 
tree as well as the fruit is corrupt, and the only safe 
course is to "destroy the tree with the fruit thereof." 


A PRAYER. - 41 


O, Father mine, 
While yet the maddening dance goes on, 

and flows the Bacchic wine, 
Like bartered blood from Virtue's veins 

on Youth's low shattered shrine; 
While 'round the ribald rev'lers laugh, as 

ebbs the ceaseless sand, — 
O, lend Thy love, bend down and lift me 

from the dark quicksands, — 
Take Thou my hand ! 

O, Father mine, 

Had I but known these placid paths led 
down to reeking swine, 

The serpent slept in trait'rous coils be- 
neath the blossoming vine, 

I had not reaped these tear-damp tares in 
fields of sunless morn ! 

O, guide my feet to life and light, to 
heavenly hills of dawn. 

Lead Thou me on! 


:o: — 

A Backslidden Ranch, 

"The last state of that man is wors than the first." Luke 11: 26 

The land was what is called "virgin soil." That is, 
it had never been cultivated. It was a rich, sandy loam 
and with skillful cultivation would produce abundantly. 
A man purchased it and began at once to prepare it to 
receive the seed, and in due time it yielded abundantly. 
Large crops of wheat, barley and alfalfa were harvested 
year after year. People as they passed by said, **What a 


beautiful ranch." But by and by domestic trouble came 
to the owner of the farm and litigation followed. There 
was a long series of suits in court in which the title of 
the farm was involved, and for years it had ceased to be 
cultivated, till in the course of time mesquite, catclaw, 
grease-wood, and other noxious weeds and plants took 
full and complete possession. You would never have 
guessed that the land had ever produced anything but 
these, or that it could bring forth anything better even 
under the most fevorable conditions. And certainly it 
would have been no small task — as difficult if not more 
so than at first — to have prepared it for culivation a 
second time. And then all those years in which great 
crops would have been harvested if the land had not 
been neglected were gone forever. Lost opportunities. 
Wasted years. No harvest ! 


How strikingly this represents the backslider. The 
man or woman who once brought forth the fruits of a 
righteous life. Under the Holy Spirit there was "love, 
joy, peace, long-suffering gentleness, goodness, faith, 
meekness, temperance," but now instead of these there 
is * 'adultery, fornification, uncleanness, lasciviousness, 
idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, 
strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunken- 
ess, reveling, and such like." How sad and yet how 
true that such a change is possible to any Christian ! 
"What I say unto you I say unto all, watch," lest any 
should backslide and thus the last state become worse 
than the first. 



Does the night seem dark and drear, 
The future filled with doubt and fear? 
Cheer up; these clouds will pass away, 
The darkest night will change to day; 
Tho' the future now seems dark and dim, 
Look up and put your trust in Him 
"Who "heareth his children when they call. 
And noteth even the sparrow's fall." 

Does your heart seem crushed with care. 
Life's burden greater than you can bear? 
Cheer up; these too, will pass away, 
There soon will dawn a brighter day; 
Soon will pass the night of gloom, 
The birds will sing and the flowers bloom; 
Look up, dear one, there's light above, 
Look up to Him for light and love. 

After the clouds, the mist and rain. 
Sunshine and flowers will come again; 
Storm, night and darkness will fade away, 
And after the night will dawn the day; 
The hours of gloom will soon be past, 
Sweet peace and joy will come at last; 
Tho' now you bow beneath the rod, 
Look up and put your trust in God. 

Then look above and dry your tears; 
Trust God thro' all the coming years; 
He'll lead thee tho' the way seems dark, 
Tho' the tempest wild, He'll guide thy bark; 
He knows the way, He holds the key; 
To all thy future destiny; 
Cheer up; once more the sun will shine, 
Look up, and trust your God and mine. 


44 *'N0 ICE." 

^*No Ice, 

Be kindly affectioned one to another, with brotherly love; in honor 
preferring one another; not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; 
serving the Lord." — Rom. 12: 10, 11. 

On the back of a pew, in a fashionable church, there 
were some printed instructions to which the pew-holder's 
attention had been directed by the familiar word 
''Notice," but some waggish (or wise) person had erased 
the "t" which made it read ''No ice." While perhaps 
the transmutation of the original word into this signifi- 
cant phrase might have been unpleasantly suggestive to 
the occupant of the pew, because of it being considered 
somewhat local and personal in its application, it con- 
tained, nevertheless, a most wholesome bit of advice. 
Too often the "leading churches" have deserved the 
appellation of ' 'holy refrigerators. " More fervency and 
less ice would make them more comfortable. To "be 
kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love" is 
more pleasant and profitable to all than to be frigidly 


Try it. 



Give me an eye to others' failings blind — 

Miss Smith's new bonnet 's quite a fright behind I 

Wake in me charity for the suffering poor — 
There comes that contribution plate once more ! 


Take from my soul all feeling covetous — 
I'll have a shawl like that, or make a fuss ! 

Let love for all my kind my spirit stir — 
Save Mrs. Jones — I'll never speak to her ! 

Let me in truth's fair pages take delight^ 
1*11 read that other novel through tonight ! 

Make me contented with my earthly state — 
I wish I'd married rich. But it's too late ! 

Give me a heart of faith in all my kind — 
Miss Brown's as big a hypocrite as you'll find ! 

Help me to so see myself as others see — 
This dress is quite becoming unto me ! 

Let me act out no falsehood, I appeal — 
I wonder if they think these curls are real J 

Make my heart of humility the fount — 
How glad I am our pew's so near the front ! 

Fill me with patience and strength to wait — 
I know he'll preach until our dinner's late ! 

Take from my heart each grain of self-conceit — 
I'm sure the gentleman must think me sweet ! 

Let saintly wisdom be my daily food — 
I wonder what we'll have for dinner good ! 

Let not my feet ache in the road to light — 
Nobody knows how these shoes pinch and bite ! 

In this world teach me to observe the next — 
Church out ! Charles, do you recollect the text ? 



An Aspiring Foothill. 

"Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate." — 
Rom. 12: 16, 

There was a beautiful green foothill that nestled 
securely with many of its associates at the base of a very 
high mountain. It was in the midst of kindred spirits 
and enjoyed the happiest fellowship, till one day it 
happened to look up and see the great mountain tower- 
ing majestically above it, when it at once grew dissatis- 
fied. It complained bitterly of being compelled to 
occupy such a humble position and wished it could be a 
mighty, snowclad mountain instead of an insignificant 
little foothill covered with green grass and horrid yellow 
poppies. It was true that it had not been lonely for a 
single hour for it had always had many congenial com- 
panions with whom it could hold pleasant conversation 
at any time, and besides many tourists and sight-seers 
visited it frequently and never failed to speak of its 
modesty and beauty. But notwithstanding all this it 
grew more and more dissatisfied with what it was pleased 
to call its ''prosy life," and a night never passed without 
a prayer — or rather a complaint — being made that it 
might be transformed into a great mountain. So one 
morning, to its unspeakable delight, it found that during 
the night its prayer had been partially answered. It had 
grown perceptibly larger. The second morning it was 
quite a good deal larger and it really felt as though it 
were almost a condescension to return the friendly 
greetings of its old neighbors — the verdant foothills. 
Thus, as it continued to grow, day after day, and night 

Alpine Ihxter. 
From the Painting by E. Young. 


after night, its off-repeated prayer was being answered. 
But one morning, after an unusually chilly and uncom- 
fortable night, it found that its beautiful covering of 
grass and flowers was gone, and that it was not quite so 
happy since this loss had been sustained, but it was 
becoming a mountain, and it comforted itself with the 
hope that trees and other kinds of vegetation would soon 
come to take their place, and they did, but the top of 
the little hill was pushed up higher and higher till at last 
the "timber line" was passed and upon its summit there 
was no vegetation of any kind save here and there some 
patches of steel-gray moss upon the great rocks. And 
there it stood in eternal solitude while the storms of 
perpetual winter swept over it. Its prayer had been 


Sometimes a plain, useful man becomes dissatisfied 
with his humble lot in life, and desires to occupy a more 
conspicuous position, so the prayer is repeatedly made 
for a more exalted place. Not that his usefulness may 
be enhanced, but that he may have the selfish satifaction 
of looking down upon those less fortunate (?) than him- 
self. If the prayer is answered, as in many instances it 
is, he finds himself, like the dissatisfied foothill, cold, 
companionless, and unhappy. "Mind not high things, 
but condescend to (be) men of low estate. " 




There's a tree right under my window, 

It's a gnarled old apple tree, 
And its limbs are scarred and twisted, 

As apple tree limbs can be. 

But the blooms that come on its branches, 

They are always sweet and fair. 
And its rough old limbs in the autumn 

A plenteous harvest bear. 

The stately trees of the forest. 

Breathe low of secluded rest, 
And murmur that peace and quiet 

Away from the world is best. 

But of labor and love and courage 

The apple tree sings to me. 
And its cheerful song rings gayly. 

As it tosses its limbs in glee. 

And whether the summer zephyrs 

Among its blossoms blow 
And, heavy with their fragrance. 

Sway them gently to and fro. 

Or whether the boisterous breezes 

That come with the winter's reign 
Throw its twisted branches rudely 

Against my window pane, 

The old tree's song is ready, 

And I always love to hear 
Its droning hum in the stillness. 

Or its louder song of cheer 
That it sings with a rising courage 

When the day is cold and drear. 



The Stagnant Pool and the Rainbow. 

The Samaritans did not receive him, because his face was as 

though he would go to Jerusalem. And when his disciples James and 
John saw this, they said, Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come 
down from heaven and consume them, even as Elias did? But he turned 
and rebuked them, and said, Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are 
of. For the Son of man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save 
them. — Luke 9: 52-56. 

This is the message that we have known from the beginning, that we 
should love one another. — i Jno. 3; 11. 

In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God 
sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through 
him. Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to Icve one another. 
I Jno. 4: 9,11. 

There was once a stagnant, filthy pool of water that 
everybody disliked, not only on account of its unsight- 
liness, but especially because it bred disease. The 
miasmatic vapors that arose from it caused much sick- 
ness and many deaths. It was so pestilential and 
destructive that there was not a family and scarcely a 
person living in its vicinity that had not felt its deleteri- 
ous and baleful influence. All wished it were a thousand 
miles away. At last the warm sun shone upon it from a 
clear sky, and little by little the water disappeared till it 
was at last entirely gone, and all the people rejoiced. 

Then one day a small cloud appeared in the heavens, 
and it grew larger and larger until the rain came down 
gently and the people were delighted and said to each 
other, "What a refreshing shower! What a welcome 
rain!" And the children exclaimed, "What a beautiful 
rainbow !" But none of the people seemed to think that 
the drops of rain were the same that had filled the 
despised pool with stagnant water and caused so 


much sickness and suffering, nor did the children reahze 
that it would have been impossible to have had the 
beautiful rainbov^ they so much admired v^ithout the 
drops of water that had come from the filthy pond. Yet 
the water was the same in the prismatic rainbow that 
they had seen only a short time before in the detested 
pool. Through the operation of God's laws the marvel- 
ous change had been wrought. 


Similar to this are the wonderful transformations that 
have taken place in the lives of men through the power 
of divine love. James and John, especially the latter, 
are striking example of this. The transition was as 
enchanting as that of the filthy pool to the refreshing 
shower and the beautiful rainbow, and the incompre- 
hensible love of God, manifested in Christ, had pro- 
duced it. 

There is no comparison or similarity between the 
spirit of the man who would call down fire from heaven 
to consume the inhospitable Samaritans, and that of the 
man whose constant ambition and admonition was to 
*'love one another," and yet the same lips gave utterance 
to both desires. Why may not we also be made beauti- 
ful in character.-* We shall be if we only reciprocate the 
love of God. Amen, and amen. 

Listening to the Nightingale. 
From the painting by C. Bodenhausen. 



The past is o'er — 
Waste not thy days in vain regret; 
Grieve thou no more. 

Look now before, 
And not behind thee; do not fret — 
The past is o'er. 

The pain was sore, 
And thou hadst cause for sorrow, yet 
Grieve thou no more. 

Close Memory's door, 
That day is dead, that sun has set — 
The past is o'er. 

There are in store 
For thee still happy days. Forget ! 
Grieve thou no more. 

Smile as of yore — 
No longer let thine eyes be wet. 
The past is o'er; 
Grieve thou no more ! 

— chambers' journal. 


Why fret thee, Soul, 
For things beyond thy small control? 

Why fret thee, too, 
For needed things that thou canst do? 
Whate'er thou canst help — help ! 

Whate'er thou canst not, with no useless worry, bear. 
Two things at least, then, Soul, need never cause thee care. 



Two Handsfull of Corn. 

"Except a corn of wheat fall in the ground and die, it abideth alone: 
but if it die it bringeth forth much fruit." — J no, 12: 24. 

There was once in opposite corners of a farmer's 
granary, two handsfull of wheat of the same variety, but 
decidedly different dispositions. One handful desired to 
remain as it was — that is, it did not wish to become a 
larger quantity — while the other handfull wanted to be 
increased. They frequently exchanged ideas and ex- 
pressed their opinions very freely, but the wish of each 
remained the same. 

When the seed time came the farmer took from his 
granary, along with much more wheat, the handful that 
had cherished a desire to be multiplied, while the wheat 
that had no such desire was left in the bin. It was 
simply an accident, to be sure, for the farmer knew 
nothing of the conversation in which they had engaged, 
or the wish either had expressed, and perhaps if he had, 
he would only have laughed. 

It so happened when the handful of wheat was cast 
by the farmer into the soil prepared to receive it, that 
each kernel was separated from its fellows, and conse- 
quently it was very lonely for all of them. They had 
been so closely associated together in the granary, and 
had enjoyed each other's company so much that it 
seemed very hard indeed for them now. And besides 
being lonely the ground was so damp and clung to each 
grain so closely that, in spite of its long cherished desire, 
the handful of wheat almost wished to be back again in its 
cosy corner in the farmer's granary near its conservative 


old neighbor. And no wonder, for it seemed quite 
probable, amounting in fact to a certainty, that with such 
conditions it could never realize its desire. Each kernel 
begged for companionship and for a more wholesome and 
congenial environment, but all in vain. So the handful 
of wheat pined away and died. But there sprang up 
from the grave of each grain, Phoenix like, a vigorous 
green sprout, and the sunshine and the rain strove with 
each other to see which could do the more to nurture 
and develop the orphan plants, and cause them to grow 
and mature until at last they had completed their work 
and the ripened field was ready for the sickle. Each 
kernel of the handful of wheat sown had been multiplied 
from thirty to one hundred fold, and now there were 
many handsful to be placed in the farmer's granary. 
The desire had been realized. 


It is an inalienable law of God, that out of death 
comes life. Addition is effected by subtraction, para- 
doxical as it may seem. Giving is essential to receiving. 
Selfishness defeats its purpose. The corn of wheat must 
fall into the ground and die in order that it may bring 
forth much fruit. The truely unselfish man of God, who 
* 'counts not his life dear unto himself," is the one who is 
reincarnated, and lives again in the hearts and lives of 
others. The self-denying missionary of the cross, who 
has been cut off from home and home associations by 
her voluntary exile among the heathen, and whose grave 
will at last be made in some foreign land, is the one 
whose seed shall be multiplied. She is the corn of wheat 
that abideth not alone. 



I know it is my place 

Some seed to sow, 
And God will give the grace 

To make it grow. 

Better to till my field 

In weary pain — 
Tho' half may never yield 

The golden grain, 

Than let it lie forlorn, 

Weed-grown and wild; 
A measure full of corn 

Would feed a child. 



Hear the brown snowbird high in the cherry-tree 

Merrily chirping a blithe little lay ! 
How can it twitter, and sing, and so merry be, 

If it remembers a happier day? — 
If it remembers the spring and the nest of it, 
When the cold winter wind ruffles the breast of it? 
Ah, but it's brave to be making the best of it 
Up in the cherry-tree ! 

Brave little friend up there in the cherry-tree. 

Facing, undaunted the snow and the blast, 
Soon will the winter go, and of a verity 

Spring will restore you the dear nest at last. 
I too remember my spring and the nest of it, — 
Ah, I'm afraid I'm not making the best of it ! 
Teach me your courage, and cheer, and the rest of it, 
Up in the cherry-tree. 


By permission of the ' 'Sunday School Times'*. 


Repairing the Old House. 

If any man be in Christ he is a new creature: old things are passed 
away; behold all things are become new. — 2 Cor. 5: 17. 

He that sat on the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. 
Rev. 21: 5. 

The old house was badly out of repair, so much so 
in fact that it was almost untenantable. The roof was 
weather-worn, and leaked in many places; the doors 
were almost off their hino^es, and the fastenings were 
broken; the windows were entirely minus many panes of 
glass, and others were partially gone; the plastering was 
off the walls and ceilings in a number of places; and the 
weather-beaten siding needed a new coat of paint. On 
the whole it was a most dilapidated old structure, and 
in every way very undesirable as a place of residence, 
and no person recognized this more than the owner him- 
self. So after long procrastination he decided that he 
would make some much-needed improvements. 

The house was greatly in need of an entirely new 
roof, but he only substituted a few new shingles from 
time to time for those that were so badly decayed as to 
be absolutely worthless. Many of the timbers in the 
building were rotten, and should have been taken out 
altogether, but instead of doing so he only removed 
some of those that were most decayed. The house 
should have been repainted inside and outside, but the 
owner did nothing more than to occasionally apply a 
little cheap paint to the most unsightly places. The 
plastering was so badly broken that it ought to have 
been entirely removed and the house replastered, but he 
only ''patched" it a little here and there and ''let it go 


at that for the present." The windows and doors 
received about the same attention from time to time 
that he gave to the roof, the plastering, and all the other 
parts of the house. Notwithstanding the repairs that 
were frequently being made, the building gradually be- 
came more and more dilapidated, fell utterly into decay 
at last, and the old hodge-podge was never tenanted 
after the penurious and eccentric owner — who was 
ubundantly able to have provided himself with an 
entirely new residence with all modern improvements — 
was carried forth to his burial. 


It is frequently the case that a man will recognize 
the dilapidated condition of his character, and occasion- 
ally make some repairs, when the thing he ought to do, 
and of which he is fully conscious, is to become an 
entirely new creature (creation) in Christ. The old 
tenement should be utterly abandoned and the spacious 
temple of Christian character occupied. Why tenant 
longer the dilapidated old structure that really never was 
a fit habitation for one who bears the image of God.-* 
Vacate now the old house for the new one. 




Lord, Thy word hath made me bold — 
Let Thy will, my future mold; 
Let Thy love my life enfold, 
Till I reach the gates of gold. 

Then to all eternity. 
Thou wilt share Thy home with me; 
And my King and Brother be 
Jesus Christ of Galilee ! 

Wm. K. Palmer. 



I remember how I lay 

On a bank a summer day, 

Peering into weed and flower; 

Watched a poppy all one hour; 

Watched it till the air grew chill 

In the darkness of the hill; 

Till I saw a wild bee dart 

Out of the cold to the poppy's heart; 

Saw the petals gently spin, 

And shut the little lodger in. 

Then I took the quiet road 

To my own secure abode. 

All night long his tavern hung. 

Now it rested, now it swung, 

I asleep in steadfast tower, 

He asleep in stirring flower, 

In our hearts the same delight ! 

In the hushes of the nigt; 

Over us both the same dear care 

As we slumbered unaware. 

(From Edwin Markham's new book of poems. 


Christmas Day — Observations and Reflections. 

"Their soul is melted because of trouble." — Ps. 107: 26. 
"They are brought low through oppression, affliction and sorrow.*! — 
Ps. 107: 39. 

"They were exceeding sorrowful." — Matt. 26: 22. 
"But I rejoiced in the Lord greatly." — Phil, 4: 10. 

To-day is Christmas. Whatever its origin, it is a 
synonym of gladness, of joy unrestrained. It is expected 
that everybody will be happy on Chrismas, but, alas, 
many are not. I was not unusually happy myself this 
morning, though I had no reason for not being, when I 
left home to walk to the postoffice, a few blocks away. 
I was much happier, however, when I returned, a half 
hour later. I had received no mail, except a sample 
copy of a ''Journal of Osteopathy," so it was not "good 
news from a far country" that I had received that had 
produced the change. Nor had I been expecting a 
message of sadness — no person but a pessimist would 
expect to receive unwelcome news on Christmas — that 
did not come that had caused the radical and very 
agreeable transition. Some people I saw as I was going 
to and returned from the office had converted me. Not 
the many apparently happy people whom I saw greet 
each other with a "Merry Christmas;" not the scores of 
laughing, light-hearted children I met; not my friends 
who smiled as I passed by; no, not any of these nor all 
of them together had wrought the nriagic spell. They 
had their influence, to be sure, but I acknowledge my- 
self deptor to an opposite class of persons for my happier 
frame of mind. 

I saw an illy clad bootblack, with a wooden leg, 

Picture of Health. 
From the Painting by J. E. MiUais, 


hobble to his "stand," immediately in front of a saloon 
— the door of which swung frequently to and fro as men 
went in and came out — to earn his meager salary — a 
mere pittance — barely enough to enable him to eke out 
a miserable existence. Nobody wished him a "Merry 
Christmas." It would have seemed like mockery to 
have done so. None cared. He was only a piece of 
driftwood on the beach, cast there by the storm. 

I looked next into the pale, wan face of a "con- 
sumtive" — many of them in fact — anxiously expecting a 
message of love from home. How sad to be a stranger 
in a strange land at Christmas time, and epecially if one 
is in search of health ! Hundreds go away from home 
every year — all alone, hoping to find health — that most 
precious boon — in some sunny southland, but many 
never find the object of their search until they enter in 
through the gates into that city where there is no sick- 
ness. No warm grasp of the hand for the sick stranger 
to-day, no familiar voice giving hearty Christmas 
greetino, no tender caress. 

A widow in mourning. She smiles as she meets her 
old friends, but it is a sad smile — one that reveals the 
disconsolateness of her heart, just as the momentary 
opening of the cottage door at night, when the lamp is 
burning brightly in the hall, reveals the darkness without. 
You voluntarily shrink back. Who has the courage or 
grace to wish her a "Merry Chrismas"? Poor woman! 
The lamp of joy swings low for her to-day. 

I met an orphan child. I would have known it was 
an orphan if I had not known the child. "How.-*" do 
you ask.^ By seeing its tattered clothing — if rags and 


strings may be called clothing — bare feet, unkempt hair, 
empty hands, disappointed look. No father to be "Santa 
Claus" for it. No mother wakened and welcomed it at 
early dawn with her cheering "Christmas gift, darling!" 
A waif ! Frail craft, far from any secure harbor, tossing 
on the waves of life's stormy sea. How I pity you ! 
You will never know what Christmas is except by its 

Then I saw an old man in an invalid's chair, being 
wheeled along the crowded street by a young man, 
presumably his son, and accompanied by a gray-haired 
woman, who was no doubt his wife. The machinery of 
life had broken, perhaps irreparably. He was now 
wholly dependent upon others. Could it be a joyous 
time to him when he could no longer go when and where 
he desired, as he once had done? Would not the recol- 
lection of better days mar his Chrismas joy — if he had 
any.? I did not want to exchange my two strong limbs for 
his easy chair, tired as they are sometimes from walking 
up and down the streets and lanes of the city. 

Soon after I saw the old man in his invalid's chair I 
passed a small store kept by a very unfortunate merchant. 
Years ago he was to have been married to a queenly 
young woman in one of the "states," but on occount of 
his failing health the wedding was postponed from time 
to time to this present day. She is still waiting for his 
hand, as she has had for many years his heart, but that 
can never be. The marriage will never take place. He 
is a confirmed invalid, now beyond the fiftieth milestone 
on life's highway, making a bare living for himself by 


giving all his time, not required to nurse his bodily ail- 
ments, to his little store. Hope turned to ashes ! 

Threading his way carefully along the crowded 
thoroughfare, a blind young man approached me. His 
sightless eyes were turned heavenward, as if piteously 
pleading with the great Father for an explanation of his 
blindness, as he felt his way along the street with a stick 
which tapped, tapped the sidewalk as regularly as the 
drum major signals with his baton to the company of 
musicians he is leading. Life to him will be one long 
night filled with murky darkness. Not a ray of light for 
his sightless eyes, though all the world is ablaze with it. 
No beautiful face, no graceful form of loved one can 
ever be photographed on his soul. There is no longer 
any sensitive plate in the camera of his eye. Blind — a 
word difficult of definition always, and impossible at 
Christmas time. 

On my way home from the postofflce I stepped into a 
barbar-shop to have some work done. I could not be 
served at once, so I waited. Presently a little hunch- 
backed boy came in. He looked thin and pale, as all 
such deformed children do, and though I Was "next" and 
in a hurry, I could not claim my rightful turn — according 
to the unwritten law of all well-regulated barber-shops 
— but waived my right in his favor. I had an oppor- 
tunity to exchange places temporarily with him, and 
why should I not do so.^ He will be jostled and crowded 
all too much in the unequal conflict he will have to wage 
before the sun of his life goes down below the western 
horizon. The fight is hard enough without being handi- 
capped by an incurable deformity. Pity him as I do, I 


would not want to make any permanent exchange with 
him in his favor. This may be selfish in me, but if so I 
cannot help it. Christmas would lose its charm if I did. 


There is nothing that more quickly prepares a person 
to enjoy the manifold blessings of life, of which he is the 
daily recipient, than to realize the sorrow, affliction and 
trouble that others have to bear. 



Let labor cease, let wearied brawn have rest, 
Repose let come to those of toiling brain, 
And let all live free from the wrench and strain 
Of daily life and for this day be blest 
With cheerful joy of Gratitude's behest; 
And as the shepherds on Judean plain. 
Heard angels sing, we'll hear them sing again, 
When we've imparted to some aching breast 
Some solace we may bring, some joy bestow — 
Old age may now its youth again renew, 
And every heart in blessedness may grow, 
Till heaven's peace shall come as Hermon's dew; 
And we shall see, as once did Magi, know — 
It is the star of Bethehem we view. 


— — :o: 


Firey Serpents, 

"Firey serpents . . . bit the people; and much people of Israel died." 
— Num. 21: 6. 

Scripture Lesson. 

The word of the Lord came to Moses saying, The 
firey flying serpents are causing many deaths among my 
people the children of Israel. 

Therefore whenever it is convenient thou mayest call 
a council of the elders to consider the manner of innocu- 
lation as well as the poisenous nature of the virus that is 
causing this fatal malady. 

And thou mayest select representative men who look 
wise and who wear high-sounding titles to write learned 
disquisitions on the ""Symptomology and Comparative 
Pathology of Reptilian Poisening." 

And moreover thou mayest appoint a committee to 
collect the mortuary statistics for each decade that the 
people may have the means of knowing what proportion 
of the deaths for any given period are attributable to the 
firey serpents. 

And furthermore thou mayest encourage the organi- 
zation of "relief committees," — by becoming an honorary 
member thereof, and in other easy and convenient ways — 
to care for the suffering and to assist somewhat in 
burying the dead. 

The priests also may hold conventions to consider 
the most orthodox methods of administering comfort to 
the bereaved when death invades the home as a result of 
being bitten by one or more of the flying surpents. 

Lecturers also, who are eloquent, humorous or 
pathetic, may go among the people from time to time to 


deliver addresses on such important subjects as ''The 
Diagnosis and Prognosis of Snake Bites," "Firey 
Serpents Necessary Evils," and "The Better Land — No 
Reptiles There !" 

And in addition to all this, entertainments may be 
given at appropriate seasons, under the auspices of some 
society or organization, in which, by offering prizes, 
children may be induced to recite ''selection" from 
popular authors depicting in the most vivid manner 
possible the dying agonies of those who have been 
fatally bitten, and the desolate homes they left — all for 
* 'sweet charity's sake !" 

Imagine all of this and much more of a similar 
character being done, and you have a real picture of the 
present in our manner and method of dealing with those 
wha have been, or who are liable to be, bitten by the 
"Serpent of the Still." The only certain remedy for the 
evil of intemperance, as has been so many times clearly 
demonstrated, is prohibition of the liquor trafic by the 
nation, and total abstinence by the individual. 


It is no use to say that this can not be done. Total 
prohibition of the traffic in intoxicants may not be 
possible today, but every individual can and should refrain 
from the use of intoxicating liquors as a beverage now. 

And seeing the enormous evils that result from 
intemperance, will they not do it.? 



How little must a person be, 

In principle, humanity. 

Who spends his manhood, gold and all, 

To manufacture alcohol? 

Indeed he is a little man, 

And built upon the Brownie plan; 

His principle, humanity, 

Gould packed into a thimble be. 

Well, then, how small is he who stands. 

With bloated cheeks and blood-stained hands, 

Behind the bar, to deal to men. 

Beer, whiskey, alcohol and gin? 

He is as little as his deed, 

No larger than a mustard seed; 

A small gun-cup well crowded in. 

Will hold a thousand of such men. 

And, then, how small must be the man, 
Who votes to keep the license plan — 
To manufacture ale and gin, 
To ruin boys and dethrone men? 
To see him with the naked eye. 
Sheer folly it would be to try, 
For all the lenses of earth and sky. 
Are far to weak to magnify, 
The little, teenty, weenty man 
Who votes to keep the license plan. 





We are laborers together with God. — i Cor. 3: g. 

The valley was parched and dry. There had been 
neither rain nor dew for many weeks, and everything 
was famishing for water. The cattle lowed plaintively 
as they drank from the stagnant, filthy pool, and begged 
for water. Men looked up toward the brassy sky and 
prayed for water — the harvest would fail without it — but 
none came. Thus the weary weeks dragged slowly by 
without any relief being afforded. 

One day some small clouds passed over the valley, 
and, looking down, saw the awful famine that prevailed 
and heard the piteous cry that came up from every 
animate object for water. They pitied the sufferers, but 
did nothing more, for indeed what could they do.!* So 
much was needed that they could not possibly suppl}' 
the demand. They wished they could do something to 
give relief, but it seemed utterly impossible. So they 
continued their journey to the distant mountains — the 
favorite trysting-place of the clouds — and there related 
their experiences and observations to other clouds, and 
enlisted their sympathy, and they all exclamed, ' 'Poor, 
famine-stricken valley! How we pity you!" 

For several days the clouds stayed about the summit 
of the mountains, enjoying each other's society, until 
one evening there was a slight change in the temperature, 
which was very perceptible to the clouds, and the fol- 
lowing morning there was not one of them to be seen in 
its original form. They had been turned to snow during 
the night, and now lay in great white heaps upon the 


mountains. The light, airy vapor, of which they had 
been composed, had been congealed. Though they had 
assumed a different form, they still felt a deep interest 
in the thirsty valley. But what could be done.? They 
were so far away and so stiff with cold. 

Just then the warm, genial sun came forth from his 
chamber, where he had spent the night, and kindly 
offered his assistance. He, too, felt an interest in the 
parched valley. He first embraced each feathery snow- 
flake, for they all complained of being chilly, and 
breathed his warm breath upon them all day long, from 
early morning till very late in the evening, and each 
crystal snowflake became a tiny drop of water. But 
none of them were any nearer the valley than before. 
So the sun sent three of his servants. Affinity, Adhesion 
and Gravitation, to assist in answering the prayer that 
was being offered everywhere in the valley for water. 
Affinity caused the little globules of melted snowflakes to 
have greater longing for each other's society and to 
endeaver to come nearer together; Adhesion held them 
in close contact, and would not willingly permit the 
slightest separation, while Gravitation gently, but firmly 
and persistently, pulled them down the mountains and 
far out into the parched valley — and the prayer of the 
famishing was answered. Each tiny speck of vapor that 
had once passed over the valley as a part of the cloud 
that had at that time and afterward so feelingly expressed 
its sympathy, had done its part in bringing relief. 


The cry of the needy is constantly ascending heaven- 
ward. There are many who are famishing for the water 


of life. We look about us and see the desolation and 
misery of the famine-stricken and hear their piteous 
appeals for relief, coming often from mute lips, and we 
stand appalled by the awful condition that prevails and 
our almost utter inability to render any needed assistance. 
So we pass on to enjoy each other's Christian society in 
some more congenial place, and thus try to forget our 
responsibility. Fortunate, indeed, are those who there 
or elsewhere are made to fully realize before it is too 
late that ''we are laborers together with God," and to do 
their part, however small, in answering the prayer of 
those who are pleading for that water that shall be in 
them *'a wellof water springing up into everlasting life." 

— o — 

"Know ye not that the kingdom of God is within you?'* 

Softly the whispering winds bring tonight, 

A message of comfort to me. 
As they tell of a land of radiant light, 

That awaits beyond life's troubled sea. 
I can see it there, though the surges roll 

Between me and that beautiful shore 
And the winds gently whispes, O weary soul, 

Come and rest in that land ever more 

But I cannot go, my heaven is here, 

In the work that is given to me. 
While serving humanity Jesus is near, 

In his presence heaven I see. 
God is love; and on earth or in heaven 

That soul may true happiness know, 
Whose every thought is unceasingly given 

God's love for his children to show. 




— o — 

"The kingdom of God is within you."— ^Luke 17: 21 

Why this oft-perplexed inquiry, 

Why this fretfulness of soul 

To know what may await thee 

Gaining life's eternal goal? 

Heaven is a consummation, 

A most happy culmination, 

A well-brought destination 

To each traveler who is guided by "Pilgrim's Parchment Roll": 

Yes; but heaven is also present; part of transient time's duration, 

A hither, inner kingdom, "coming not with observation," 

Waiting not for realization 

Till the setting of life's sun; 

But all the way to heaven is that heaven here begun. 

G. B. F. HALLOCK, D. D. 

Good Advice from an Unexpected Source. 

— o — 

"Balaam loved the wages of unrighteousness; but was 

rebuked for his iniquity: the dumb ass speaking with man's voice 
forbad the madness of the prophet." — 2 Pet. 2: 15, 16. 

I was recently called on business to Washington Park 
— the Monte Carlo of New Jerey — and was curiously 
interested in much that I saw during my short visit to 
this popular "resort," but that which in one respect 
most deeply impressed me was a peculiar ''cent-in-the- 
slot fortune machine." In fact I saw many of these and 
similar devices scattered about the park. 

In this particular style of machine there were thirty 
one maxims or bits of information — the numbers ranging 
from six to thirty six — printed on a card, which was 
always in plain view^ in a glass case. By dropping a 


cent into the *'slot" the machine would — I suppose, for 
so the printed instructions afBrmed — shake a set of dice, 
also plainly seen in the case, and the ' 'fortune" was 
indicated by the number of the spots that corresponded 
with the number of the maxim on the card. If, when 
the automatic shaking of the dice had ceased, the number 
of the ''spots" on the upper side of the dice when added 
together was eighteen, following this number on the card 
one would read, "Be civil to every man; for you know 
not who may prove to be your friend" — all of which is good 
advise, and if more generally carried out in practice 
would be a fortune for many a man. 

If twenty one was the * 'lucky number" the plain, 
printed and suggestive question, "Do you expect to 
plunge your hand into the fire and not be burned?" was 
what was read by the fortune hunter. 

Like one of the wise sayings of Seneca or a proverb 
of Solomon was the maxim numbered thirty one: "The 
end of dissipation is speedy death — avoid this and live 
long. " Imagine in the midst of a great beer-garden this 
wholesome advice repeatedly — if not conspicuously — 
given, so that all may read it again and again as they 
stroll about from place to place, and the drinking by 
men and women alike going right on without the slightest 
interruption! It reminded me of the handwriting on the 
wall — only it produced no consternation among the 

If the spots aggregated thirty six the person who had 
parted with his money — and the printing on the card 
could all be read without the expenditure of a cent — would 
read, "In your family be liberal, but in your business 

'♦WHEN MORNING APPEARS." Psa. 46: 4. 7 1 

save every penny: ten pennys make a dime" — which is 
sound advice notwithstanding the lame orthography. 


People seldom go astray ignorantly. It is not often 
from a lack of gcod advice that men sin, for we have all 
been admonished again and again and frequently in 
unexpected ways and places, and we all know better 
than our conduct justifies. Is not this a sadly strange 
commentary on our actions.-* Why do people sin against 
light and knowledge.^* Alas, Balaam has had many 
representatives and they have had many unexpected 
reprovers, but without causing repentance and reform- 
ation of life. **A11 we . . . have gone astray," is still the 
sad confession. May the Good Father pity and forgive 
all of us ! 



— o — 

Pilgrim, struggling and toiling alone — 
Weak and wavering, thy courage nigh gone; 
List to this promise, and banish thy fears, 
"God shaW help thee, when morning appears." 

Are you fearful of foes that lurk by the way — 
Enemies, near thee by night and by day? 
Remember thy strength, it is greater than theirs, 
"God shall help thee, when the morning appears." 

Do you have to regret that, oft by the way 
"The sin that besets," still leads you astray? 
Press onward ! press onward ! only a few more years 
And he will deliver, "when morning appears." 


Remember his promise, what clearer could be? 
"I'll come and make my dwelling with thee 
Through all thy conflicts, thy toiling and, tears, 
Nor ever forsake thee," till "morning appears." 

Until that day cometh, though weary, and lone, 
In the ' 'kingdom, and patience of Jesus, " press on 
Till the end of toiling thy weary soul cheers, 
And God, to take thee, "when morning appears." 



— o — 

O the fog is abroad, 

And the landscape is marred, — 

But the sun's in the east ! 
And the mist will soon quiver and rise 
And dissolve to the green of the wood and the blue of the skies, 

For the sun's in the east. 

Not a song of a bird 

Or a child-note is heard. — 

But the sun's in the east ! 
And a thrill will soon break from the trees. 
And the merriest bubble of children join carol with these. 

For the sun's in the east. 

Now arouse thee, my soul. 
In the gloom and the dole, 

For the sun's in the east ! 
What to thee though the darkness is dumb ? 
There's a music, a splendor, a heaven of glory to come. 

While the sun's in the east I 



Attending One's Own Funeral. 

— o — 

Ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful 
outward, but are within full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness. — 
Matt. 23: 27. 

I remember well of dreaming when a boy of being 
dead, and of being present at and taking part in the 
preparations that were made for my funeral. I closed 
my own eyes, pressing the lids gently down never to be 
opened again. I took my cold, dead hands in my warm, 
living ones, and crossed them in the usual way upon my 
breast, allowing, as I did so, my living hand to rest for 
some time over my dead heart, to determine in this way 
whether life was really extinct, or whether I had only 
swooned away, for I had then, and have to this day, an 
indescribable horror of being buried alive. I closed my 
speechless mouth and tied a white bandage under my 
chin and over the top of my head, to keep my lower jaw 
from falling away from my upper one. I extended my 
limbs, and placing my feet close together, secured them 
in that position by tying a strip of white cloth about my 
ankles. My warm tears fell upon my cold, palid face as 
I kissed myself good-by. Then I drew down the window, 
shades, and, walking softly, so that I might not awaken 
my dead self, I went out of the room, closing the door 
gently behind me, to assist still further in arranging for 
my burial. Out of doors we talked in an undertone 
about the time and place for the funeral, the sad message 
announcing my death that should be sent to distant 
relatives, and perfected all necessary arrangements for 
having the grave dug. That night the watch with the 
dead was long and sad. I was one of those who did not 


retire, but remained with the watchers till morning. I 
heard frequently, during the long, painful night of 
watching, the stifled sobs of my parents, and wished so 
much that I had not died, chiefly because it was such a 
source of sorrow to my father and mother. Then came 
the day and hour for the funeral. I could never realize 
till then that I had so many friends. They came from 
every home in the neighborhood and from quite long 
distances beyond. I could see in every face the reve- 
lation of a sad heart, and my death had caused it all. I 
could hear expressions of regret on account of my un- 
timely decease, and I, too, regretted it, mainly because 
they did. The long funeral procession wended its way 
slowly from my father's house to the cem'etery, in the 
edge of the forest, some two miles away, and I realized 
that I was going away from home forever. I looked 
upon every familiar object as we passed, with an unusual 
interest, for I knew it was the last time I should see 
them. At the grave, kind, careful, strong men — my 
father's old neighbors — gently lowered the coffin in which 
I lay into the cold, damp ground. The minister read a 
short selection from the Holy Scriptures concerning One 
who is *'the resurrection and the life," offered a fervent, 
sympathetic prayer, and then repeated slowly and 
solemnly, ''Earth to earth; ashes to ashes; dust to 
dust," as the first shovelfuls of earth were returned to 
the grave, amid the weeping and lamentation of those 
who were present. When the grave was filled, and the 
oblong mound of earth completed to mark my place of 
repose, I assisted my friends in arranging the flowers, so 
soon to wither and decay, and then, with the other 


mourners, turned sorrowfully away from my dead and 
buried self. 

Afterward I plucked the choicest flowers in their 
season — violets, roses, carnations, wild hon'ysuckleF; ' 
climbing ivy, and many other varieties, both of culti- 
vated and wild flowers and vines — and, twining them 
into appropriate designs, came regularly to decorate my 
own grave. There is a peculiarly weird sadness about 
decorating the graves of others, but how much more so 
to be acutely conscious of placing bouquets, wreaths and 
other floral emblems on one's own tomb ! To be dead 
and know it, and to come regularly to decorate the grave 
— one's own ! 

It was a peculiar dream that I had, as indeed most 
dreams are. I had dreamed much that was literally and 
absolutely impossible, but which, notwithstanding, was 
strikingly typical of actual daily occurences that are real, 
and a thousand times more weird and awful than any 


There are millions of people, once noble and God- 
like, whose former selves are dead and buried, and they 
are kept busy decorating their own graves. 

Here is a man keenly conscious of the fact that his 
honor is dead, and he is spending his time decorating, 
with the flowers of assumed gentility and politeness, the 
place where it lies buried. When any man has forfeited 
his honor to that extent he is dead. 

Another, with the unceasing attention that a more 
wothy object deserves, replenishes the flowers of decorum 


and suavity in the broken vases of the grave where his 
purity of character is entombed. He puts in all his time, 
when in "good society," tryiqg to act like a gentleman, 
instead of always endeavoring, both in public and in 
private, to be one. 

Within the heart of another, truth is dead, and he 
scatters in great profusion the flowers of affected plausi- 
bility over its grave to conceal the sad fact that so noble 
a virtue is no longer alive there. 

A fourth has buried his devotion, but continues to 
visit the place of its interment with marked regularity to 
cast bouquets of formality in worship upon the sleeping 
dust of his former righteousness. 

Polish mortals ! Endeavoring by garnishing the 
sepulchres of their noblest attributes to thus hide from 
God and man the fact that they are dead, and that their 
tombs are ''full of all uncleanness. " Better call on the 
Master to come and resurrect these dead virtues and 
graces, and infuse new life into them, than to spend 
time whitening and decorating their sepulchres ! 

■:o: — 



I live for those who love me, 
For those I know are true; 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit too; 
For all human ties that bind me. 
For the task by God assigned me, 
For the bright hopes yet to find me, 
And the good that I can do. 

I live to learn their story 

Who've battled for my sake; 

The patriot crowned with glory, 
The martyr at the stake. 

Bards, prophets, heroes, sages, 

The noble of all ages. 

Whose deeds crowd history's pages. 
And Time's great volume make. 

I live to hold communion 

With all that is Divine, 
To feel there is a union 

'Twixt Nature's heart and mine; 
To profit by affliction, 
Reap truths from fields of fiction. 
Grow wiser from confliction, 

And fulfill God's grand design. 

I live to hail that season, 

By gifted ones foretold, 
When men shall live by reason. 

And not alone for gold; 
When man to man united, 
And every wrong thing righted, 
The whole world shall be lighted 

As Edea was of ol4, 


I live for those who love me, 

For those who know me true. 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit too; 
For the cause that lacks assistance. 
For the wrong that needs resistance. 
For the future in the distance, 

And the good that I can do. 

(By the late George Linneus Banks, in Christian Work.) 

The Fault. finding Bucket. 

"Oh, dear, Oh dear, said the buket to the sweep, now 
tired I am of this circumscribed life. I do nothing day 
after day and all day long but go down and up and up 
and down in this horrid old well, and this I have been 
doing ever since I can remember." 

This was not by any means the first outbreak of a 
similar kind that the bucket had made. It had fre- 
quently complained before, so now the good natured 
sweep, who was always smiling and bowing to everybody 
— including the most unworthy persons, and even horses 
and cattle, — thought he would try to make the bucket 
see the folly and wickedness of being discontented and 
finding fault. With this purpose in view he said. "We 
can not-all be useful alike, nor can we exchange places 
and do the work of each other successfully. I know 
your work does not give you that freedom that some 
others have, but after all you are granted some privi- 
leges that they do not have. You have a comfortable 
place in winter in which to work, and it is always cool 
and pleasant in summer, and besides on hot days you 


frequently take refreshing plunges in the clear sparkling 

"Yes, indeed," the bucket replied, *'I do get very 
frequent plunches, but, being of the temperament I am, 
I cannot say that they are refreshing, and as to its 
being a pleasant place in which to preform my daily 
routine of duties, to me it is a dingy old prison. How I 
sigh for sunshine and pure air." 

"But you forget, I think," said the sweep, "that the 
more you work the greater the amount of sunshine you 
have to enjoy, or rather, I should say, you have more 
opportunities to enjoy, and the more wholesome you 
make the atmosphere of your workshop. You know 
when you are hard at work you come often to the top of 
the well where you have the full benefit of the sun- 
shine, and" — 

"Benfit of the sunshine, indeed," interjected the 
bucket before the sweep had time to finish the sentence. 
"I scarcely get above the well curb, as you positively 
know, until I must return to my prison cell and to the 
performance of my threadbare task. Is this what you 
would call enjoying life.^ Why, I can only get a glimse of 
the many beautiful things that are every where about 
you" — and the emphasis was placed most emphatically 
on the personal pronoum of the second person — "till I 
am forced to return to my underground duties. How I 
hate such words as duty, task, work. To me they are 
perfectly distressing. Oh, dear, such a hard lot in life I 
have, and then to get no sympathy. It is almost more 
than I can bear." 

"Well, dear bucket," the sweep said soothingly, ' 'you 


are drawing wrong inferences I fear, and using words 
out of their proper places. It is not sympathy we need 
when performing our several duties, but appreciation. 
Sympathy is foi the suffering, appreciation for the duti- 
ful. As to that you are appreciated. Busy people 
cannot always stop to tell you of their appreciation of 
what you are doing. Pardon any allusion to myself, but 
whoever immortalized the old sweep.? What poet has 
sung the praises of "The Weather-worn Sweep," as he 
has -The Old Oaken Bucket.?" 

The bucket had entertained a secret suspicion for a 
long time that the sweep was just a little "distant" so 
these honest expressions of appreciation and the sensible 
advise that was given was misconstrued as insincere, and 
without . any further consideration of the matter the 
bucket suddenly let go its hold upon the rope by which 
it was attached to its unrecognized and. un-appreciated 
co-laborer,, the good natured sweep, and descended to 
the bottom of the well to pout, — though it was over- 
heard _to say something about "taking a rest," and there 
it lay. in the ooze and mire for a long, long time, till it 
was almost forgotten,— the farmer having been compelled 
to buy a new bucket to take its place. 


Godless discontent is a growing sin among those who 
profess to be disciples of Christ. The church is not 
flourishing and spreading itself like a green bay tree, so 
some of the members become dissatisfied with what they 
are pleased to call "routine duties," and refuse to assist 
any longer. The Sunday school is not prosperous, so 


some of the teachers become discontented and "drop 
out of the school to rest awhile." The Young People's 
society is not thriving, so some of the young people — 
**the future hope of the church" — take a vacation. 

So the usefulness of the church, the Sunday School 
and the society, is impaired to the extent of the ability 
of those who have withdrawn their assistance. And 
often to a much greater extent, for, as it was impossible 
for the sweep without the help of the bucket to draw 
water from the well, so it frequently happens that those 
who are willing to work cannot succeed for lack of 


— o — 

O heart of mine, we should'nt 

Worry so! 
What we've missed of calm we could' nt 

Have, you know. 
What we've met of stormy pain, 
And of sorrow's driving rain, 
We can better meet again, 

If it blow. 

We have erred in that dark hour, 

We have known 
When the tears fell with the shower 

All alone. 
Were not shine and shower blent 
As the gracious Master meant? 
Let us temper our content 

With his own. 


For we know not every morrow 

Can be sad, 
So forgetting all the sorrow 

We have had 
Let us fold away our fears, 
And put by our foolish tears, 
And through all the coming years 

Just be glad. 



Wandering Away from Home. 

When he came to himself. Luke 15: 17. 

In the latter part of December, 1898, a young man 
of exemplary habits who lived alone near San J — , Cal., 
was found one morning by his neighbors to be absent 
from home, and as there were unmistakeable evidences 
that something very serious had happened to him, search 
was immediately instituted by his friends and relatives 
and a man was found during the day who had seen him 
quite early that morning near the foothills, five or six 
miles from home, to whom he said he was ''going into 
the mountains to meet a party on business. " He acted 
rather strangely, the man said, and seemed to be in a 
great hurry. This was the only information they had 
been able to obtain, but it served as a clue to his prob- 
able condition and -also to where he might be found. 
The unanimous opinion was that while under the strange 
spell of some mental hallucination he had gone away 
from home and that he was probably wandering aim- 
lessly in the mountains. The search for him was 
continued that day, but he could not be found. Early 
the next day his brother, with the assistance of some 


Indian trailers, followed the demented wanderer far into 
the mountains, but without being rewarded by finding 
him. The two or three succeeding days they continued 
the search, but with no better results. The keen-eyed 
Indians pursued the delirious fugitive through dense 
thickets of chapparal, over the most dangerous preci- 
pices, into deep, dark canons, and up, up among the 
clouds on the tops of the highest mountains, but he 
unwittingly eluded their vigilant pursuit. Their supply 
of food being exhausted, and being almost worn out by 
the long, fatigueing tramp, they were compelled to give 
up the search and return to the valley to rest before 
renewing their efforts to find the unfortunate man. The 
Indians reported that he had stopped to drink at every 
spring and streamlet, and that when he came to the 
snow higher on the montains, he frequently ate of it, 
which clearly indicated that he was very thirsty and was 
probably suffering from an attack of fever — which was 
afterward verified, the physicians pronouncing his ail- 
ment * 'ambulating typhoid fever." 

Almost a week after he had wandered away from 
home, his sister who lived some fifty or sixty miles 
distant, hearing a faint knock at the kitchen door early 
one morning opened it and was astonished to see her 
lost brother. In a letter to one of my friends, which I 
have recently been greatly mterested in reading, the 
sister said, "I never beheld such a pitiful object in my 
life, and I could scarcely realize that he was my brother, 
though I knew he had wandered away from home. He 
was greatly emaciated — almost a skeleton — his eyes 
deeply sunken in his head, his voice feeble and 


unnatural, his face ha^^gard, and his clothing was torn 
to shreds." 

The sister nursed him back to life again, and when 
he was sufficiently recovered to do so he recounted to 
her what he could recall of his strange experiences. He 
said, "The evening before I went away, not feeling well, 
I had a presentiment or foreboding that I was going to 
be seriously sick and I wanted to arrange my business as 
quickly as possible and come to yoj. This is the last I 
remember till I suddenly regained my consciousness or 
reason, probably several days thereafter, for my mind 
is a perfect blank. When I came to myself I was in the 
mountains sitting on a narrow ledge of rocks overlooking 
a deep gorge. There was a perpendicular wall of rock 
above and behind me, and how I came to be there was 
a mystery to me, and how I should ever get away was a 
greater problem, but I made my way in some manner — 
I scarcely know how — to the bottom of the canon, and 
following it for a long distance I came to the railroad. 
Then I knew where I was, and I thought possibly I 
might be able to come to you. It was a severe tax on 
my strength, but by dint of will-power I succeeded." 


Unfortunately for themselves and others, hundreds of 
young men have wandered away from home, and urged 
on by that satanic, demoniacal delirium by which they 
were possessed, have gone into the midst of dangers 
more awful than those experienced by this demented 
man, without realizing the imminent peril they were in 
until they * 'came to themselves," and then, alas many 
of them failed to reach a place of safety. 


It seems impossible to believe that any person would 
go deliberately into the "far country" of unrighteousness 
if he were fully conscious of the terrible suffering that 
would come upon him there. The expression — "and 
when he came to himself!" — reveals the state of mind 
that produces and accompanies a life of profligacy. 

"Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." 
"The way of the transgressor is hard." "The wages of 
sin is death." "He that soweth to the flesh, shall of 
the flesh reap corruption." These and other emphatic 
declarations from God's word, verified by the universal 
experiences of every sinful man and woman, ought to 
bring the dissolute wanderer to his right senses. Stop, 
and reflect ! 



"Nothing but leaves," where golden grain 
Might fill thy hand with sheaves, 

While, over years of mis-spent time 
Thy sadden'd spirit grieves. 

"Nothing but leaves while," clustering fruit 

Might life's fair tree adorn; 
And, on thy crownless head, at last, 

A diadem be worn. 

"Nothing but leaves," 'twill not avail 
To say," IVIy spirit grieves;" 

What answer wilt thou frame to this 
Where are thy golden sheaves? 

"Nothing but leaves," for summer showers 
For sunlight bright, and fair, 

For all the wealth of sweetness borne 
Upon its blamy air. 


And when the summer days are past, 

And chilled its balmy air; 
And field and forest, far and wide, 

A look of sadness wear, 

And when, as autumn comes apace, 

Thy saddened spirit grieves. 
Shall this, at last, be thy sad plaint? 

"Nothing, alas! but leaves!" 



Some day — I know not when — this soul of mine, 
A-fire with expectation, will break forth 
From out its earthly tenement of clay 
And soar to worlds beyond . 

Oft have I dreamed 
Of glories that awaits beyond the veil 
And grown impatient. Now my soul is chained, 
Fettered and bound by earthly limitation, 
Imprisoned in a cage of mortal flesh. 
I am not free; I am a prisoner. 
While here I stay. 

Sometimes I hear, 
When night is come, and earth is wrapped in silence, 
A fleeting echo from that far-off land 
Where souls are free. I hear a strain of music. 
So wondrous sweet, majestically grand, 
That I am all enraptured. Could I hear 
The harmony complete, 'twould draw my soul, 
A joyous fugitive, from earth to heaven. 
It comes to me but faintly, and I miss 
Full half its beauty and its rflelody. 
I am dissatisfied; I fain would hear. 
In rich completeness, heaven's diapasoa. 


This life is sweet to live; 'tis hard to die; 
For inborn fear oft triumphs over faith. 
We struggle to remain midst shades of night 
When bright before us shines the light of day. 
If I be fearful when my hour approaches, 
I pray, dear Lord, that Thou wilt let me hear, 
Full and complete, one note of heaven's music, 
That, hearing, I rnay quickly banish fear, 
And gladly enter into liberty. 

From Oracle Publishing Co.— ARTHUR O. GARRISON. 

Longing for Rest. 

— o — 

"Come unto me, that labor and are heavy laden, and I will 
give you rest." Matt, ii: 28. 

It was a beautiful evening in June. The long day was 
drawing to a close. The sun had completed his day's 
journey and quietly laid down to rest below the western 
horizon. Almost imperceptibly the azure tint of the 
cloudless sky had given place to crimson and gold, and 
now these were fading. The twilight was receding 
and night was coming on. 

Within a humble dwelling an old woman, whose three 
score years and ten had been told for almost two decades, 
was waiting for the silent boatman. She was the 
last of her generation. One by one she had bidden 
adieu to those who began the race of life with her, and 
to many others who had entered the race long after. 
Beside her sat one of her daughters — the last born — 
tenderly anticipating, and as far as possible, supplying 
every want. Nothing that filial love could suggest or do 


to make the aged mother more comfortable was neg- 

Together they had talked of the past and the future 
— ^the distant past and the near future — until the frail 
old body had become fatigued and the eyes had closed 
heavily. She was sleeping. 

There was a slight motion, like the rustle of a leaf 
when the gentle breeze sighs through the forest at even- 
tide, and the ever-vigilant watcher, bending over the 
loved form, asked, "Is there anything you want, mother.^ 
What can I do for you?" 

The heavy eyelids swung slowly back once more, and 
looking up into the face of her daughter she said, *'I am 
so tired. I want rest." 

'♦Yes, mother," the daughter replied, "I know you 
are tired, and I wish I could give you rest, but I can not. 
Only Jesus can do that." 

The eyes closed again. There was a very slight — 
almost imperceptible — tremor, and she had entered into 
rest — eternal rest. 


**Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden, and I will give you rest." Blessed invitation. 
How sad life would be with its toil and weariness with- 
out the assurance of rest. Glorious realization at last ! 
The Savior has promised it, and he has all power. Rest 
will come to the faihful in due time. I can not give that 
rest, but He can — and will. 

AT REST. 89 


I cannot think that she is gone 

So far away. 
She's resting now ! She will return — 

She will not stay ! 

I cannot think that pleasant smile 

No more I'll see. 
'Tis only veiled a little while, 

From you and me. 

I cannot think that cheerful voice 

Is hushed for aye. 
In angel choir it will rejoice 

One long, glad day 

I cannot think that brilliant brain 

Will mount no more; 
For loftier height it will attain — 

New realms explore. 

I cannot think that loving heart 

Will throb alone. 
With Christ she chose the better part 

All his are one ! 

A loving Savior's hand I trace 

In all I see, 
He went but to prepare a place 

For you and me. 

O, patience, heart ! Grief unalloyed 

Is not his will ! 
On earth there is no aching void 

But Heav'n can fill. 


90 YES they'll meet us. 


— o — 

Will they meet us at the portals 

When we reach the better land, 
Will they give us cordial greeting 

And extend the welcome hand, 
Will there be a place made ready 

Where our weary heads may rest 
In the mansions fast and holy 

With the happy pure and blest? 

Yes they'll meet us, gladly greet us, 

And the Lord will dry our tears. 
In his presence with the ransomed 

We will dwell through endless years. 

Will the music of the angels 

Sweetly fall upon our ears, 
Will they raise a mighty chorus 

In our great Redeemer's praise? 
And the loved ones gone before us 

On that bright celestial shore 
Will they see us there and know us 

As they did in days of yore? 

Yes they'll meet us, gladly greet us, 

And the Lord will dry .our tears. 
In his presence with the randsomed 

We will dwell through endless years. 




**Put Out Your Lights." 

Then spake Jesus unto them, saying, "I am the Light of the world: 
he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light 
of life. — Jno, 8: 22. 

Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth. — Is. 45: 22. 

One night, some years ago, I boarded the steamer at 
M — bound from San Francisco to San Diego. It was 
one of those dark, inky nights, when objects with which 
a person is ordinarily perfectly famihar assume a grotesque 
strangeness, as dimly seen by the faint light of a friendly 
lantern, and seem to have shifted from their normal 
position — when everything appears unnatural and to have 
assumed peculiar proportions and unusual locations — 
thus easily producing confusion in the mind of the 

Half a dozen persons, with lighted lanterns, were 
walking about on the wharf as the boat approached, 
when suddenly there came from across the water the 
stentorian voice of a sailor and we heard distinctly above 
the murmur of the sea, "Put out your lights," and 
almost instantly every lantern was darkened, and the 
only light on the wharf was the "signal." The plurality 
of moving lights confused the sailors so that they could 
not make the landing, but when the only light was the 
beacon they could easily get their bearings and soon 
brought the steamer to its proper position along side the 


It is not an unusual thing now to see men carrying 
false lights. They stand in the darkness of prejudice, 
superstition, ignorance and sin and make it more difficult 


for sailors on life's sea to reach the harbor of safety. 
Their shifting, changeable, Jack-o-lantern signals render 
it almost impossible sometimes for the tempest tossed 
seaman to recognize *'the Light of the world." And 
notwithstanding the request to ' 'Put out your lights" 
that is being constantly made they persist in keeping 
them burning. Let all heed the universal request to 
''Put out the lights" of false doctrines and false lives 
that only the True Light may be seen — "the Light of 

o — 


Softly fall the twilight shadows, 
Over all the waiting land, 
Like a silent benediction 
From the loving Father's hand. 
In the glowing west suspended, 
Hangs the new moon clear and bright, 
Like a basket whence the angels 
Scatter stars of purest light. 
Day has many cares and trials, 
But from these we find release, 
When the twilight's dusky shadows 
Fold us round with wings of peace. 

Once, when in the Book most precious. 

Of the "endless day" I read, 

Prayed I that the twilight shadows 

Might sometimes be given instead. 

That, throughout the gem-walled city. 

Through pearl gates, down streets of gold. 

Twilight's dusky shades might gather. 

Bringing comfort as of old. 

Now, since life has made me wiser, 

I can see with grief-cleared sight. 

That the twilight there is needless; 

Perfeet joy ean bear the light. Nelia McGavack. 



Dusk — and stars ! 
The great gloom gathers slowly on the trees, 
Thrusts out remorseless from the crevices 
The lingering light that flies into the West 
To die on drowning sunset's submerged breast; 
The world is cast adrift upon the wide 
Swift current of the dark's engulfing tide, 
No haven and no anchorage, until far 

Lightens — a star ! 

Dawn — and a bird ! 
The vague, prophetic splendor of the day 
Spreads its dim garment on the untrod way; 
The earth lies on the dreaming edge of sleep. 
And over all expectant tremors creep, 
Touched with a sweetness that grows poignant pain, 
Then shivers back to ecstasy again; 
And through the tensity of dawn deferred 

Wakens — a bird 1 



The Truth Confessed Unwittingly. 

"Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh."-Matt. 12: 34. 

Liquor drinking usually takes the padlock off the lips 
so that free expression is given to the emotions and 
sentiments of the heart. The artesian well is uncapped 
and the stream gushes forth. 

Not long ago a well-dressed young man, apparently 
of a good family, and of more than ordinary intelligence 
staggered down the street under the influence of liquor 
repeating over and over again, with a weird, dirge-like 
intonation half moan and half chant, "Nobody knows 


how bad I am! Nobody knows how bad I am!" People 
stopped and listened to the plaintive, melancholy, and 
doubtless truthful repetition, as the perennial fountain 
of his impure life gurgled forth, "Nobody knows how 
bad I am, " and beyond a peradventure many who listened 
confessed to themselves that that note of sadness and 
gloom found a chord in their own hearts that vibrated 
responsively, * 'Nobody knows how bad /am," but who, 
alas, did not entertain a simple thought of reformation. 


What a terrible thing it is to go on adding one secret 
sin to another until the heart becomes utterly corrupt, 
and out of the abundance of the heart the mouth at last 
gives utterance to the fact of its awful pollution. 
''Cleanse thou from secret faults," is an every day 
prayer for everybody. 



My life is like the boundless sea, 

O'er which the winds of passion blow — 

Sometimes its song is glad and free; 

Sometimes 'tis fraught with deepest woe. 

The howling tempest oft doth shake 

Its inmost depths, its hidden caves, 
Till all its energies awake 

And cry to Him who ever saves. 

And lo! upon the stormy sea 

The winds are hushed, the waves are still. 
How gladly and how joyfully 

They yield obedience to His will. 

And in the calm so sweet and blest. 

He stands beside my heart to cheer; 
He banishes my life's unrest, 

And takes away its doubt and fear. 



Destroying to Save. 

— o — 

If thy right hand ofifend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee; for it is 
profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that 
thy whole body should be cast into hell. — Matt. 5: 30. 

A fire had broken out in a part of the city most 
favorable for a great conflagration. An alarm was 
turned in and the firemen responded with alacrity and 
heroically fought the advancing flames, but in spite of 
all they could do the fire spread with great rapidity and 
threatened to sweep everything before it. All efforts to 
stop the terrible conflagration were futile. Finally it 
was decided that an elegant structure that had only 
recently been erected, that stood directly in the course 
of the approaching holocaust, should be razed to the 
ground to afford the firemen a better opportunity to 
withstand the advancing hosts of Prometheus with their 
chariots of flame. It seemed a great pity to destroy such 
a fine building, but it was necessary to prevent the de- 
struction of property much more valuable. 

A vessel, with a cargo worth thousands of dollars 
and a passenger list of scores of persons, was caught in 
a fearful storm in mid-ocean. For hours she was able to 
weather the gale with but little damage, but the storm 
increasing in fury the vessel sprung a leak, and to save 
the passengers the cargo had to be thrown overboard. 
It was a great loss, but was necessary in order to prevent 
a greater one — men are worth more than merchandice. 

During a battle a soldier was slightly wounded in the 
foot. He could not receive prompt or proper attention 
and gangrene set in. Consultation of surgeons was held 
and it was decided that the man's foot must be amputated 


to save his life. It was a very great sacrifice for him to 
sustain the loss of a foot, but, under the existing con- 
ditions, it was not an exorbitant price to pay for life. 


Comparatively few people recognize the importance 
of what may be fitly denominated heroic action. 
Dangerous crises come upon all, and greater crises — 
those fraught with calamitous results — may often be 
obviated by doing promptly that which ought to be done. 
To attempt to save what must inevitably be destroyed 
sooner or later, to say the least, jeopardizes that which 
might be saved if heroic and timely sacrifices were made. 
There should be no hesitation, where wisdom indicates 
it to be essential, about destroying the lesser good in 
order to retain the greater. 


When the mighty hills and mountains 
Are shaken like a reed, 
And we stand in sore amazement 
In helplessness and need, 

It is then we feel our weakness 
And want of His strong arm, 
Who rules the boundless universe, 
Its winds and waves and storms. 

Before these deep-toned temblors * 
In abject fear we stand, 
Frail as bubbles on the water. 
Or tracks made in the sand. 

Spanish for earthquakes. 


All our boasted strengeh and prowess. 
How puny now and weak, 
While the bravest one among us 
With dread can scarcely speak. 

Yet a mighty Friend stands near us 

On whom we may rely, — 

Though heaven and earth should pass away 

He'll hear His children's cry. 

Then waves may roll and mountains fall, 
He'll not forget his own 
Who humbly walk by faith and say 
Thy will, O Lord be done. 



Retributive Justice. 

"Be sure your sin will find you out" — Num. 32: 23. 

"Brown 7'^$-. Brown. Case set for May 21st." That 
is what appeared on the court clerk's records. But that 
was not all. Back of this simple memorandum was a 
history that was to be read by the writers in open court 
and published to the world. It was an unsavory history 
to, as divorce proceedings usually are. 

Years ago, for ''Brown" is now an old man, he 
promised a fair young bride at the marriage alter in far- 
off Canada, to love, cherish and keep her until they 
should be separated by death. This promise, so solemnly 
made, he ruthlessly broke, leaving his wife, then the 
mother of some helpless little ones, destitute and alone. 
He "came West," married again, became the father of 
a family, and a recognized leader in the church and in 


society. Fortune also smiled upon him and he became 
the owner of a great deal of property. He had the 
confidence and respect of all who knew him. 

After many years the bride of his youth, whom he 
had so grossly wronged, learned of his residence in the 
"far West" and the sequel to the history of almost an 
entire life of three score and ten years is divorce pro- 
ceedings, and thereby a revelation of past sins given to 
the world, sons and daughters disgraced, his own 
reputation blasted, the church injured, and devils and 
bad men pleased. 


"Be sure your sin will find you out." God has more 
than one Nemesis to ferret out the individual who has 
been guilty of sin and bring him to judgment, but 
usually it is that agent, who, if kindly treated, would 
like the wife of one's youth, be an everlasting benediction, 
but abused, becomes the means of bringing retributive 
justice down upon him. When will men learn that, 

"Every guilty deed 
Holds in itself the seed 
Of retribution ?" 




Take back, take back the harsh word now; 

Consider it unspoken; 
Break, break, though late, the angry vow 

That better far were broken. 

The stream of death will bear away 

The object of thy passion; 
Oh, then obliterate to-day 

The thought of his transgression. 

Forget the little ill, revealed 
As though by hate's intention; 

Remember all the good, concealed 
As though by love's invention 

The hour may come when thou wilt stand 

Unsheltered and unshriven; 
Forgiveness' price is in thy hand. 

To-day let it be given. 

With hatred in the heart at last 

Bethink thee of his terror 
Whose alienated gaze were cast 

On love's eternal mirror. 

Thou might'st endure the sight of woe — 

The scofi&ng — the derision — 
But where thou dost expect to go 

How couldst thou bear the vision? 





"Ye seek me ... . because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled." 
— Jno. 6: 26. 

"From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no 
more with him." — Jno. 6: 66. 

Near the intersection of two of the principle streets 
in one of our large cities there stands an unoccupied 
building that was erected half a century or more ago and 
used for a church. 

On approaching this edifice from any direction it 
appears at first to have been constructed out of great 
blocks of smoothly-dressed stone, but a closer inspection 
reveals the disappointing and humiliating fact that it 
was built out of very common brick and plastered and 
* 'penciled" to imitate stone ! Here and there patches of 
the ''concrete veneering" have been losened by wind and 
weather revealing the coarse, red bricks and in spite of 
yourself the conviction is forced upon you that probably 
this "sham stone" building fitly represents some who 
worshipped there. The building impresses you with the 
insincerity and hypocrisy of "professors of religion," and 
even suggests the possibility that many other disciples 
may desire to appear more substantial and granite-like 
than a closer test would warrant. 


Let us have church building and Christian men and 
women altogether free from every appearance of sham 
and insincerity. "Veneered disciples" will not stand the 
test of time and trial. 




Have you a comforting word for the needy, 

Tempered to ease a heart's pain, 
Strengthening hands that are weak and unsteady? 

Tell it again and again. 

Have you a touch that can straighten the twistings 

Tangled in some poor life's skein, 
Smoothing the blurs of a troubled hand's wrestings? 

Use it again and again. 

Have you a smile that can vanquish the shadow 

Threatening a soul's fairest plain. 
Backing the mists by its binding embargo? 

Smile it again and again. 

Have you a song that can brighten the weary, 

Easing time's pressure and strain. 
Drying the tears that have turned bright eyes bleary? 

Sing it again and again. 

Have you a tenderness apt in forgiving 

Faults that were fought off in vain, 
Feeling hope lives while the sinner is living? 

Show it again and again, 

Pass on the rich coin of true golden action. 

Deem no repetition as vain; 
Each kindness can form with a heartache connection 

So pass them again and again. 




Who has not seen a puff of smoke araise, 

And float in misty majesty above, 
As like a cloud as any in the skies, 

Whereon we look with wistf ulness and love? 

Who has not seen a crowd of fluttering things 

Wheel white before the breeze, as frail as froth, — 

Mere withered leaves, but seeming to have wings 
As light as those of any wandering moth? 

One moment — then, alas ! the spell is done. 

The clound, that was not cloud at all, is past; 
The moths, that were no butterflies, are gone; 

They held us — but their tenure could not last. 

Since semblances achieve such perfect grace, 
Why strive to answer more than beauty's call? 

Beauty is brief, and, fading, leaves no trace: 
The true alone's what triumphs after all 



Rivers of water. 

"A man shall be .... as rivers of water in a dry place," — Is. 32: 2. 

For many, many miles in every direction there is a 
dreary, desolate waste. Sagebrush, mesquite and cacti 
of various kinds are the only signs of vegetable life. The 
burning sun scorches and vv^ithers. Sterility and barren- 
ness alone greet the eye of the traveler. 

In the distance are the snow-capped mountains from 
which burst a hundred perennial springs, the sources of 
half a score of rivers that meander through the land on 
their way to the sea — God's great store house. 







^•r^-*J^VHr ! 1 



A surveying party has gone out upon the desert and 
one of the party is looking through the telescope of his 
trident-instrument towards the mountains in the distance. 
By his directions others are driving down stakes here 
and there. ''Lines'* are being run. The surveying 
party has been sent out by men who have formed them- 
selves into an Irrigation Companv. Then other men 
come with teams and scrapers and excavate canals where 
the surveyors have been at work. 

At last water from the mountains is running in the 
canals and is being turned upon the land. What a 
change ! There is verdure everywhere. Great, broad 
fields of barley, wheat and alfalfa; cattle and horses 
grazing contentedly in a hundred pastures; vineyards, 
orange groves and olive orchards have taken the place of 
sagebrush, mesquite and cacti. No new elements were 
added to the soil. The climate is just the same that it 
was before; but water has been supplied, and to that 
and intelligent cultivation the marvelous change is due. 


"A man shall be .... as rivers of water in a dry 
place." Christ came in **the fullness of time" — after 
due preparation had been made by the prophets and 
others for his advent. He came to humanity as the 
perennial mountain stream came to gladden the parched, 
dried, unproductive desert, and the wonderful trans- 
formation that has taken place marks the difference 
between the heathen and Christian world. 




Christ was not born within a palace gate; 
No cloth of purple wore he, delicate 
And costly. And the glorious star did bring 
The shepherds to no princely halls. The thing 
Did come to pass within a stable, late 
In the night watches. They who did await 
Sad Israel's consolation — not the great — 
Only the wise and just did know their King, 
When Christ was born ! 

Where shall His Spirit come, to what high state? 
Not to the haughty heart nor obdurate, 
But in the lowly heart the angels sing 
Their glad hosannas to the new-born King; 
Unto the humble heart — O, happy fate — 
The Christ is born ! 



Getting the Correct Time. 

I have lived in all good conscience before God until this day — Acts 23: i. 
I thank God, whom I serve from my forefathers with pure conscience. 
— 2 Tim. 1:3. 

I was sitting one day conversing very pleasantly with 
a friend in a railroad ofBce in a little village on the 
"main line" of. the S. P. in central California, when my 
attention was attracted by the unusual stillness of the 
telegraph instruments, and I immediately spoke of it to 
my friend who was the company's agent at that place. 

Said he, in reply to the series of inquiries I made — 
for I have seldom been too modest to ask questions, 


notwithstanding the fact that to do so reveals my 
ignorance. — "It is now almost twelve o'clock. Every 
day at noon we get the correct time, and there are no 
messages sent over the wires for a short time just before 
twelve. The measured click of the instrument you hear 
is the tick of the clock at Lick Observatory, with which 
every telegraph office on the line of the S. P. in 
California is connected. We railroad men have to 
regulate our watches and clocks every day by the time 
that is given us over the wires from Lick Observatory.?" 

Just then the "sounder" of the telegraph instrument 
gave forth a peculiar noise and I knew that it was the 
twelve o'clock signal. A moment later and the instru- 
ments were clattering away as usual. Messages were 
being sent and received and the routine business of the 
road was being transacted the same as before the signal 
was given. Once in every twenty four hours every 
timepiece in use by the employees of this great corpo- 
ration has to be compared with and regulated to corre- 
spond exactly with the time indicated from this one 
authoritative source. This is necessaray to prevent 
collisions and consequent loss of life and property. No 
matter if nine tenthts or more of all the employees have 
precisely the same time, if it is not in harmony with that 
at Lick Observatory it must be corrected. The clocks 
and watches of the army of railroad men are utterly 
worthless, for the purpose for which they are intended, 
— though they were of pure gold studded with diamonds 
— if they are not kept in harmony with each other, and 
the only way to have them harmonize is to regulate them 
often by an absolutely correct standard. 



Conscience is not an infallibly safe guide. It is a 
watch. It is useful in its place if properly regulated. It 
can not regulate itself, nor be regulated by the con- 
sciences of others. If the conscience of one man agree 
perfectly with those of a thousand others it will not be 
safe to conclude that the thing about which they agree is 
therefore right. All may be wrong. Conscience only 
says, *'Do right," but does not point out what is right. 
To live conscientiously is not enough, unless the con- 
science is kept in perfect harmony with the only 
authoritatively correct standard, no more than it will do 
for a train dispatcher to send out trains on schedule 
time as indicated by his watch, simply because it may 
be running and has not stopped since it was taken from 
the factory. He does not know whether it is "fast" or 
* 'slow" for he makes no comparisons with standard time. 

Christ is the clock in the observatory — the infallibly 
correct regulator — for the conscience of every man. If 
all lived conscientiously in accordance with his teaching 
there would never be any collisions. Perfect harmony 
would prevail in the moral world. 

Paul declared that he had ' 'lived in all good con- 
science" both before and after he became a Christian, 
but, judged by his conduct, Paul the conscientious 
Christian was as unlike Paul the conscientious Jew as 
noonday is different from midnight. By all means live 
conscientiously, but know that you are living so in per- 
fect harmony with Christ, the authoritative regulator of 
the conscience. 

PRAYER. 107 


— o 

'Tis sweet to breathe in prayer 
Thanksgiving to our Father above, 
But sweeter far to feel and know 
The joy of his unceasing love. 

'Tis sweet to breathe in prayer, 
"Hallowed le thy name, O Lord — 
Let not my footsteps go astray. 
But guide me by thy word." 

'Tis sweet to ask in prayer 
For our Savior's constant aid, 
That we may daily stronger grow 
In the faith that he portrayed. 



The Indian Mother Comforted. 

— o — 

Comfort ye, comf rt ye my people, saith your God. — Is. 40: i. 

A party of Christian tourists visited, in the state of 
Cahfornia, an Indian rancherie or village, and as they 
drew near they heard the sound of weeping. Coming 
still closer they perceived that the sound came from 
the direction of one of the adobe huts of which the 
village was composed. Going to this particular cabin 
they found a group of ten or twelve Indians — both men 
and women — sitting on the floor in a circle, in the center 
of which was a dead child. They were all making loud 
and bitter lamentation. The young mother, who sat at 
the child's head, seemed, naturally, to be most affected. 
Her body swayed to and fro as if rocked by some mighty 
tempest, while her lamentation was most piteous. She 


was evidently mourning the loss of her only child. By 
her side sat an elderly woman, who appeared to be her 
mother, and who seemed vainly endeavoring to console 
her daughter, who, like Rachel, refused to be comforted. 

They were evidently very poor, and it was suggested 
by one of the party that some money be given them with 
which to buy food and clothing, and ''this would per- 
haps comfort them too, for they certainly do not grieve 
as other people do." So the money was given, but the 
weeping continued. 

Learning, upon inquiring of an Indian who stood 
near, that they understood English, a thoughtful 
Christian woman said, ''Let us sing to them," and acting 
upon her suggestion the tourists sang, "Jesus, Lover of 
my Soul." They had scarcely begun to sing when the 
weeping ceased, and there was a calm like that when the 
storm is past — when it has spent its fury — and you only 
hear the rain drops falling from the eaves, the belated 
breeze sighing through the boughs, and the gentle ripple 
of the newly made rivulet on its way to join the deep 
blue sea. They had been comforted. 


Bereavement comes to all. The king upon his throne, 
and the dusky child of the forest have naturally hearts 
alike. They love, and grieve, and hope. They sorrow 
and demand to be comforted, and will not — can not — 
be satisfied except with the consolation that comes 
through the gospel of the Son of God. "Comfort ye my 

AS WE PASS. 109 


In the crush of the crowded street 
Where friends as strangers meet 
And pass, and scarcely know 
The face familiar — thus we go, 
In this world's haste our way — 
Day after day — day after day ! 

friend ! while thus we pass, 

1 fain would speak the word, alas ! 
Too often left unsaid ! — God speed 
Thy journey ! Grant thy deed 

Be nobly for the true and right. 
Accounted worthy in His sight ! 

And stranger ! On whose quiet face 
I joy to mark the Spirit's grace 
And greet a soul in silence ! — yet 
Long to know thy secret! — Let 
This world in passing find and bear 
A little of the cross and care ! 

brothers in the bond of toil 

1 bid you hail ! In the turmoil 
Of this world's wrong, go thou 
Forth bravely ! We may not now 
Pause long; and yet, fain would I share 
With thee thy burden and my prayer ! 





To-night the sight of the great silent earth 

Wrapped in white moonlight, strangely saddens me. 

Hushed of its tumult and the sound of mirth, 

The world sleeps on as when in vanished years, 

So lonely and so weary, with what tears, 

Christ prayed alone in dark Gethsemane. 

O sleeping ones, devoted yet so blind ! 

Had you but felt the horror of His fate ! 

Had you but known the meaning of the kind 

Yet warning words He uttered, had you known 

How much your Master suffered there alone 

You might have helped to bear the crushing weight ! 

"Could ye not watch with me one hour?" Alas ! 

If His disciples had but understood ! 

Deserted by the disappointed mass 

Of fickle Galileans, — as He wept. 

Nearer and nearer those savage shadows crept, 

Roman and Jew, burning to shed His blood. 

What comfort in His struggle to have felt 

A brother's sympathy, however slight ! 

While for his poor disciples, — to have dealt 

Him consolation, it had been so high 

A privilege ! I only wish that I 

Had lived and watched with him that fatal night. 

And yet to all who live must come an hour 

Of fierce temptation, when the soul must go 

Thro' perils such as make the strongest cower; 

These are our Gardens of Gethsemane, 

All who have passed the crisis faithfully 

Have watched with Christ altho' they did not know. 




"Facts as Idle Tales — Therefore Incredible. 

"Their words seemed to them as idle tales, and they believed them 
not." — Luke 24: 11. 

One day last week I learned a valuable lesson from a 
street waif. As I was passing leisurely along one of the 
crowded thoroughfares of this great city I overheard a 
little boy, who was evidently a child of very poor parents, 
ask a fruit vender for two or three partially decayed 
peaches which were lying apart from the other fruit he 
was offering for sale, but to my surprise the little fellow's 
request was refused. 

Calling him to me, I asked, "Would you like to have 
a nice, ripe peach.^" He hesitated in making any reply, 
so I said, "I think you would enjoy eating one of those 
luscious peaches, and if you will select the one you 
prefer I will pay for it." 

He seemed confused and began to say something that 
I did not quite understand, as he spoke in a subdued 
tone of voice, so I said again, "Come, my boy, have a 
fine, large peach at my expense." 

I was never more sincere in my life, and I endeavored 
to so impress him, but to my great astonishment he only 
hung his head in embarrassment and finally said, in 
reply to all my urging, "I doriH want no peach !" 

The fact was that he did not believe that I was in 
earnest. My offer was more generous than his previous 
experiences and observations in life would allow him to 
accept as genuine. He would gladly have taken the 
rotten, worthless peaches — if the fruit vender had given 
his consent, — because he had known nothing better, but 
my liberality was to him incredible. 


This incident, simple as it was, started a train of 
thoughts and resulted in teaching me an important and 
useful lesson. I understand from this why the disciples 
did not believe the report of the woman that Christ was 
risen from the dead — the news was too good. And I 
knew better than I had known before why there are so 
few who respond to the preaching of the gospel now. 
To them it is incredible that so many great blessings are 
freely offered. The promises of God through Jesus 
Christ are to them as "idle tales," and they only 
wonderingly exclaim, as did one of old, "How can these 
things be.''" 

Oh, for more men and women of God who will 
earnestly, patiently, persistently, repeatedly — and there- 
fore convincingly — proclaim a risen Savior's undying love 
to the faithless and unbelieving ! 



Once at my very side 
Shone there a face, 
Full of emfathomed love, 
Full of all grace; 

Then glanced my Father's look. 

Speaking to me; 
Beamed then my brother's brow 
Noble and free ! 

Peaceful and innocent 
Pure — like my child; 
Deep as my husband's heart 
On me it smiled. 

In it there gleamed the light 

(Ah, what a glow.) 
Of my dear, friendly loves, 
All that I know. 

From it a radience streamed 

Sun-like, sublime ! 
There gathered holy looks 
Those of all time. 

Aspects of sainted souls 

(Felt I their tears.) 

Full of all heavenliness, 

Martyrs and seers. 

Mighty, angelic power 

Seraphic grace. 
Mingled their mellow fires 
In that one face. 

Opened Eternity 

Then at a word. 
Knew I the face of Him, 
Jesus, my Lord ! 
MRS. MERRILL E. GATES — in "Christian Work. 



So sudden and so swift 

The earthly end to him ! 
Upward, O God, we lift 

Our eyes suffused and dim. 

Yearning to see, above 

These clouds about us blown, 
In sign thou still art love, 

The rainbow round the throne ! 



O golden day, on which the Savior rose ! 

O blessed day, which brings such holy thoughts! 
Sweet day, so full of light, of life, and love ! 

So fraught with peace and joy for all mankind ! 
A day of rest from earthly toil and strife. 

The first day of the week, on which we meet 
With him, and for a while we lay aside 

All selfish thoughts of gain and earthly care, 
Raising to him glad songs of sweetest praise 

For vict'ry over sin, death, and the grave, 
And while our lips the sacred emblems touch, 

Those emblems kiss forgiveness to each soul: 
The sun shines brighter on this holy morn 

For we can look beyond all earthly light 
Into the very presence of the king 

Who shines into each heart with light divine, 
And brings to us the sweet hope that some time 

His pierced hand will touch the bars of death 
To open wide the graves wherein we lie. 

And we shall rise with him to endless day. 
His word is sure; his promise he will keep. 

He'll come at last for those who in him sleep. 



Saint Martin and the Impostor. 

"Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails ... I 
will not believe." — Jno. 20; 25. 

One day when Saint Martin was busy with his sacred 
duties, there was a knock at the door of the monastery 
and, responding to his call, the old monk was met by a 
stranger who desired admission. He was of lordly mein, 
and his dress, as well as his personal appearance, indi- 
cated him to be a man of great distinction. 

Nothing abashed by his commanding and dignified 
bearing, St. Martin said, "Before I can consent to ad- 
mit you into the sacred precincts of this monastery I 
must know who you are, and on what business you 

To this the visitor, expecting to be immediately 
admitted, replied, *'I am Christ," and advanced towards 
the half-open door, but the monk, guarding the entrance, 
said, "Show me the print of the nails." But his jeweled 
hands did not bear this indubitable mark of Christ's 
person, and confused by the sagacious old monk's 
searching and unexpected test, that revealed his true 
character and exposed his attempted deception, the im- 
poster quickly fled from Saint Martin's presence. 


This legend suggests the only infallible means of 
distinguishing between the true and the false in men, 
and systems of religion that purport to have come from 
God. There are numerous deceivers in the world in all 
ages making delusive statements, teaching alluring 
doctrines, and announcing fascinating revelations, who 


would persuade the people to substitute these new beliefs 
for the old faith. The only sure way of knowing these 
false pretenders is by applying the test of Saint Martin: 
*'Show me the print of the nails." Nothing is from 
Christ that does not plainly bear his mark upon it. Any 
doctrine or plan of salvation that has not as its central 
fact the gospel of the wounded, bleeding, dying Christ 
is a snare and a delusion. 


He said there wasn't a God on high, he laughed at the Christian's hope; 
He looked at the stars in the dotted sky, at the rock on the mountain 

slope — 
The ponderous rock that jutted out, high over the murmuring sea — 
And said that they were among the things which merely happened to be; 
It was "only a matter of cooling off and condensing that had 

The system, with their suns and worlds, to perfection out of naught." 

He spoke of the sun-kissed pagan's creed and the god unto which he 

He spoke of the drooping flower's need of the mist from the passing 

He spoke of the dumb brute's fear of death, of the wild hind's mother 

And he smiled at the claim that man draws breath through the favor of 

One above; 
He heard the bell as its echo spread on the peace of the Sabbath morn, 
He listened to what the preacher said, and he turned away in scorn. 


He stood by the bay as the tide came in; he watched the billows that 

He saw the volcano across the plain, with its summit wreathed in 

"They were things that had come out of empty space;" he could tell you 

how and why. 
But a pallor spread over his baby's face, and they said that the child 

would die ! 
Then the man who had scoffed fell down on his knees, he still had a 

prayer to make; 
"Oh, God," he pleaded, "spare him, please! God, spare him for Christ's 


S. £. RISER. 



It is the night whereon the Christ was born. 

And tender memories chain my thoughts, the while 

I dream of the awaking Asian morn 

Which looked the first upon his infant smile. 

I see the swarth Judean shephards pass 
Along the lonely street at break of day; 

I see them bow between the ox and ass. 
And by the manger-cradle kneel to pray; 

I see the calm content upon the brow 

Of her who bore him broaden with the light; 

And pent-up gladness of long months gleams now 
As she unveils for others that dear sight. 

I fain would take my place to praise and pray, 

Beside the manger in the cattle-shed, 
Where, though the morning breaks o'ercast and gray, 

A light celestial crowns a baby head. 

But while I pray the shadows pass away. 
And, standing by a cross, I seem to see 

In the full sunshine of the Christmas Day 
A risen Savior stretch his hands to me. 



Gossiping Flowers, 

When Saul was come to Jerusalem he assayed to join himself to 
the disciples: but they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he 
was a disciple. But Barnabas took him, and brought him to the apostles, 
and declared unto them how he had preached boldly at Damascus in the 
name of Jesus. And he was with them coming in and going out at 
Jerusalem. — Acts 9: 26-28. 

Growing in the midst of roses, geraniums, fucias, 
pansies, violets, cala lilies and other beautiful tropical 
and semitropical flowering plants and shrubs in a 
spacious and well-kept park or garden was a "century 
plant" — Agave Americana — that was the cause of no 
little anxiety to its ever-blooming and much admired 
neighbors, as the object of their contempt and 

One day some fresh, young violets were laughing at 
the century plant when an old rose, bush, that stood 
near, said to them, "You certainly should not be blamed 
for what may seem to others a lack of good breeding. 
To my positive knowledge this clumsy, conservative old 
"mossback" has remained during the last ten years or 
moie just about as you see him now. It may do him 
some good to be made to realize that he is nothing but 
a laughing-stock. " 

Some morning glories, clinging to a near-by trellis, 
overhearing the remarks made by the old rose bush, said, 
with an unlady-like laugh, that revealed much more 
than their words, "We are usually regarded as being 
•wall-flowers, ' but we are not to be compared in this 
respect to the object of your just criticism. Indeed you 




\ A 



i"' ^- j^r 



From the Painting by J. M. Bciuand. 


might, with perfect propriety, have said much more 
concerning our 'steadfast neighbor' than you did say." 

"Very true," ejaculated a venerable and tenacious 
geranium. "I have lived all the years of my life in 
close proximity to Mr. Agave Americana — the wearer of 
a high-sounding title — and have seen that the faithful 
gardener gives him the same care and attention that the 
rest of us receive, and if he ever appreciated in the least 
what has been done for him I have never been able to 
recognize the fact." 

**I think, "remarked a richly, and fashionably attired 
fusia, ''that I never in all of my observations saw a more 
ungrateful object. Why you can not come near the old 
churl without you are in constant danger of being pierced 
through and through by his sharp spines. Every avenue 
of approach to him is carefully guarded by a score or 
more of needle-like thorns. I would not be surprised if 
his heart should be accidentally discovered if it would 
not be found to be a combination of buckthorn, catclaw, 
Spanish dagger and cacti." 

The cala lilies lifted up their white blossoms — em- 
blems of purity — and for once, at least, forgetting to be 
modest, exclaimed in harsh, discordant accents, very 
unlike their naturally sweet, pleasant voices, ''Just so, 
we have found the presence of the century plant at times 
almost unbearable, but hesitated to say anything for 
fear of giving offense, but forbearance has ceased to be 
a virtue. Mere words can not express our antipathy 
towards this intruder, which is undoubtedly 'the thorn 
in the flesh' of all of us." 

"It may not become us to say anything," began a bed 


of beautiful pansies, from which one would naturally 
have expected better things, *'but we wish to assure you 
that we are in hearty sympathy with all that has been 
said in criticism of the uncanny agave, and — , " but be- 
fore the sentence could be finished the pretty pansies 
became so much embarrassed at the thought of the new 
role they had assumed that further utterance was im- 

Notwithstanding the many objections that were 
made, the sunshine and the rain and the faithful old 
gardener never failed to discharge their duties fully 
toward the despised agave during the long, long years of 
its slow growth and development. 

One day not long after the critical flowers had given 
"vent to their feelings" for the thousandth time, they 
observed that a very rapid and radical change was taking 
place in the much-abused century plant, and almost be- 
fore they could realize what was happening a tall, sym- 
metrical flower-stalk had sprung up to a hight of fifteen 
or twenty feet, and a great bunch of lovely creamy-white 
blossoms, like the mammouth plume on the helmet of 
some giant knight, had appeared thereon, completely 
overshadowing all of them. They were greatly surprised 
and ashamed, for they had not thought it possible that 
the object of their repeated ridicule was capable of such 
wonderful and pleasing development. It was a hard 
thing for them to do, but they all apologized in a be- 
coming manner for their rudeness and discourtesy, 
and the kingly agave, with dignified grace and modesty, 
smilingly, assured them that ''all was forgiven. 



It not unfrequently occurs in "this progressive age" 
that some rough, uncouth man, who had for years Hved 
a sinful Hfe —a Jerry Mcx\uley, Henry H. Hadley, John 
B. Gough, Saul of Tarsus, or some other desperately 
wicked man — has been turned to God and desires to 
identify himself with the disciples, but instead of being 
received by them he is refused their fellowship. When 
he assays to join himself to them they declare that they 
are afraid of him, and will not believe that he is a 
disciple. Such hyper-critical "professors of religion" 
practically acknowledge their disbelief in the possibility 
of any change in the lives of sinful men and women 
through the gospel — God's power unto salvation. They 
are sceptics.- 

The develojiment of Christian character and attain- 
ments may be slow, but God and Barnabas are always 
faithful in giving encouragement to those who signify the 
least desire to bring forth the flowers and fruits of a 
righteous life. Better act like Barnabas — you can not 
tell but what you may be encouraging a Paul. 



"The boneless tongue, so small and weak, 
Can crush and kill," declared the Greek. 

"The tongue destroys a greater horde," 
The Turk asserts, "than does the sword.** 

The Persian Pro\erb wisely saith, 
"A lengthy tongue — an early death." 


Or sometimes takes this for instead, 
"Don't let your tongue cut off your head." 

' 'The tongue can speak a word whose speed, " 
Say the Chinese, "outstrips the steed." 

While Arab sages this impart, 

"The tongue's great store-house is the heart." 

From Hebrew writ the maxim sprung, 
"Though feet should slip, ne'er let the tongue." 

The sacred writer crowns the whole, 
"Who keeps his tongue doth keep his soul." 


Guilty and Defenseless, 

"Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is ever at the 
right hand of God * * * maketh intercession for us." — Rom. 8: 34. 

"If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father; Jesus Christ 
the righteous " — i J no. 2: i. 

A man who had been charged with having comrnited 
a crime had been arrested, arraigned, tried and found 
guilty as charged. He had carried the case from one 
court to another, each time having the decision of the 
lower court sustained till at last he was to have a hearing 
before the supreme court of the land. An appeal had 
been taken to that court, but alas, his means to defray 
expenses was exhausted. He has not only been adjudged 
guilty again and again, but he is a bankrupt and entirely 
ignorant of how to proceed to have his case properly 


presented before the last court of appeal. He must go 
to prison for life, unless the decision can be reversed 
here. When he is in this awful dilemma an advocate of 
superior ability comes forward and offers to prepare his 
case and present it before the highest tribunal without 
demanding any fee whatever. The poor, dejected, heart- 
broken defendant cannot find words with which to 
express his appreciation and joy. But before the time 
set for the final hearing of his case he unceremoniously 
and abruptly dismisses the attorney who had so graciously 
offered his service in his behalf. Foolish man ! There 
is now no hope ! 


Just SO many persons are now doing. Found guilty 
at the bar of knowledge, reason and conscience, the case 
must b3 heard before the Supreme Judge. They are 
poor, friendless and miserable. Unable to secure means 
to employ counsel, the case must go before the court for 
final hearing without a competent advocate. '*Jesus 
Christ the righteous" comes forward to make the plea, 
and the defendant is happy. "^ "^ "^ The day and hour 
set for hearing the case has come, but the wretched 
culprit's Counsel has long since been dismissed. The 
transgressor's doom is sealed. Poor backslider, if 
he had only retained the services of the Wonderful 



When there is danger in the way 

And clouds are dark above, 
You steal into your closet, where 
You kneel and call, in tearful prayer, 

On God to prove his love. 

When all the spreading world is fair, 

With cloudless skies above. 
You ask not for God's guidance then — 
You sally forth to vie with men, 

Unmindful of His love. 

The man who cries: "God, guide me !" when 

He needs the Fathers love, 
And walks alone in easy ways, 
Forgetting all the gloomy daySj 

Will need a bond above. 

The man who sings a song of praise 

And still has faith and love 
When all the ways ahead are clear 
May have to find indorsers here. 

But his word will do above. 




O Rock of my salvation, 
When I am stayed on thee. 

Abroad is agitation 
Tranquillity with me. 

Afar thy shadow falleth — 
My shelter and retreat; 

No terror here appalleth, 
No snares beset my feet. 

Departure of the Fishermen. 
From the Painting by Theo. Weber. 


Thou beatest back the billow 

When sorrow's surges roll; 
Thy peace is 'neath my pillow, 

Thy strength within my soul. 

The clouds may brood above thee, 

The tempests smite thy breast; 
Nor gloom nor storm can move thee,. 

My Refuge and my Rest. 

O Rock of my salvation, 

I stay myself on thee; 
Thou art my habitation, 

Through thy eternity. 


Polish Pirates, 

Ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of 
Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, 
and without God in the world. — Eph. 2: 12. 

When Poland ceased to have a separate existence as 

a nation, she had but one man-of-war on the sea, and 

when the sailors aboard that vessel, then in the Southern 

Ocean, heard that their nation had become extinct — 

that the flag they were flying represented nothing that 

would be recognized or respected — they held a council 

and decided to engage in piracy. Accordingly the Polish 

flag was hauled down and the black banner — the emblem 

of death — substituted in its place and the merciless and 

relentless career of piratical life was begun. It is said 

that in all the history of piracy on the high seas that 

these sailors — without home or country — had no equals 

for bravery, recklessness or cruelty. They hesitated at 

nothing that was daring or dastardly. 



The most dangerous temptations, or rather tempt- 
ations attended by the g^reatest dangers, come to those 
who have nothing to admonish them to perform well 
their part in life; who recognize no wholesome, re- 
straining influences, who are * 'strangers from the 
covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God 
in the world." 

Alas, that the false idea should ever prevail that 
there is nothing noble for which to strive, and thus the 
way be prepared for a life of piracy against purity, 
honesty, sobriety, good order and righteousness. 



Lo ! I am with you alway, 

I will never leave thy side; 
I will help and bless and cheer thee, 

If thou wilt in me abide; 
Through this dark and gloomy valley 

I will guide thee, never fear, 
And when dangers round thee gather, 

Thou shalt feel my presence near. 

With us always, blessed promise, 

How it cheers us on the way, 
How it lightens all the burdens 

We must bear from day to day; 
Cheer up, brother, Christ is with you, 

Though in darknes you way roam. 
Trust him, he will safely lead you 

To the saints' eternal home. 




Saving the Gold. 

"Keep that which is committed to thy trust, avoiding profane and 
vain babblings, and oppositions of science falsely so-called." — i Tim. 6:20. 

"That good thing which was committed to thee keep by the Holy 
Ghost which dwelleth in us." — 2 Tim; i: 14. 

It was a queer looking device that I saw in the in- 
ventor's workshop, not unHke some inquisitorial machine 
of the dark and bloody past that was used to tear the 
helpless victim limb from limb in order to extort an 
orthodox confession from him. 

Cylinders, with iron teeth, some revolving this way 
and some that. Wheels and pulleys, belts and bands 
— Ezekiel's vision materialized ! Of what use could it be.? 
For what purpose had such a machine been constructed.? 
Was it some contrivance for aerial navigation? Or was it 
an ''infernal machine," such as an anarchist might divise 
with which to enforse his ideas of righteousness between 
himself and some fellow-mortal.? Oh, no, it was nothing 
of the kind. It was a "gold extractor" — a device that 
automatically separated the gold from the dirt, sand and 
gravel with which it was mixed. 

The earth, rocks, pebbles, sand, gold — altogether — 
are shoveled into the machine and the work of separation 
begins. First the larger rocks are eliminated and the 
clods broken by a large, strong, toothed cylinder, then 
passing on to another cylinder, the process of separation 
goes on by the smaller pebbles being expelled and the 
clods pulverized, and thus by means of cylinders and 
screens the pulverizing, sifting, eliminating process 
continues till at last the fine dirt and sand containing the 
gold are blown against a quicksilver or "amalgam" plate, 

128 TRUTH. 

and, the gold and quicksilver having great affinity for 
each other, the gold adheres to it and is saved. 


' 'Avoiding profane and vain babblings, and oppositions 
of science falsely so-called, that good thing which was 
committed to thee keep b}^' the Holy Ghost which 
dwelleth in us." This should be the process of separation 
that should especially and continually characterize the 
Christian. He must necessarily see and hear many 
things that should be unheeded, and many other things 
that should be forgotten as quickly as possible. The 
process of elimination ought to go on and on until only 
the gold of truth, held securely in the heart by the 
amalgam of God's Spirit, remains. 



O what is valor on the side of wrong? 

O what is love unless our faith be stiong? 

Or what is faith when fixed on that which fails? 

The Truth, the Truth alone preserves, prevails! 

The Truth shall make you free, the Savior saith,- 

The courage born of Truth has conquered Death. 

O to be brave no matter what the cost ! 

O to be true tho' all save Truth be lost ! 


I see God's plans in all the powers that stir, 
In failure and in triumph, loss and gain; 
In every pang of thine, O sufferer, — 
The sweetest rest comes after sharpest pain. 



Remarkable Transformation, 

Thanks be to God, that whereas ye were the servants of sin, ye 
became obedient from the heart to that form of teaching whereunto ye 
\vere delivered; and being made free from sin, ye became servants of 

What fruit had ye at that time in the things whereof ye are now 
ashamed? for the end of those things is death. But now being made free 
from sin, and become servants of God, ye have your fruit unto sanctiti- 
cation, and the end eternal life.— Rom. 6: 17, 18, 21, 22. 

One day, some years ago, when strolling leisurely 
and somewhat aimlessly along the streets of Los Angeles 
"sight-seeing" — for it was at the time of my first visit to 
this modern Mecca — I saw an old Chinaman, the very 
picture of abject misery and wretchedness, busily engaged 
picking up rags and papers from the gutters, alleys and 
byways of the city. He carried two large baskets, one on 
each end of a stout pole about four and a half or five 
feet in length, which he dextrously balanced from 
shoulder to shoulder thus shifting the baskets alternately 
from front to rear as he desired, and with a short stick 
armed at one end with a sharp hook he would transfix 
the rags and bits of paper and transfer them to the two 
rude receptacles he carried to receive them, placing the 
paper in one basket and the rags in the other. Thus 
the poor, stupid man eked out a miserable existence as 
he went about the city day by day doing the work of a 
scavenger, his sole remuneration being the few cents he 
received from the proprietor or agent of some paper mill, 
which varied slightly each day according to his industry 
or good luck but was never more than the merest 
pittance. However he had a monopoly of the business 
in which he was engaged, and probably would never 


have any competiton — just that ideal position for which 
many are longing. 

The ignorant old Mongolian and the repulsive work 
he was doing seemed to me to be exactly adapted to 
each other. The rags were filthy and apparently utterly 
worthless, while the Chinaman was the helpless and 
hopeless bondservant of heathen degradation. And to 
my mind, at that time — for I was not then a Christian — 
fitly represented his race. I thought the Chinese a very 
inferior people superstitiously bearing the awful burden 
of heathenism, and for whom there was no hope. With 
many others 1 was inclined to say, ''Can any good thing 
come out of China?" 

A fortnight ago I attended a reception at the Los 
Angeles Christian Mission given by the Christianized 
Chinese to their teachers and friends, and I noted with 
profound interest and unalloyed pleasure the marked 
contrast between these Christian Chinamen and the 
poor, old rag-picker whom I had looked upon as the 
representative of his people. The contrast was greater 
than that between the clean, white paper and the filthy 
rags out of which it was manufactured. 


Many and wonderful are the transformations that are 
taking place in the material world by the application of 
scientific knowledge. Soiled rags are transmuted into 
pure, white paper by simple mechanical and chemical 
processes. But more wonderful changes are taking place 
in the moral world through the proclamation of the 
gospel. The hearts and lives of the vilest men that sin, 
satan and heathenism can produce are being purified by 


obedience to the truth. Of many, in all lands, it may 
now be said, "Whereas ye were the servants of sin, ye 
became obedient from the heart to that form of teaching 
whereunto ye were delivered, and being made free from 
sin, ye became the servants of righteousness." For this 
let all exclaim, "Thanks be to God." 


Down by the sea of the mild Galilee, 

The Savior passed time and again ; 

From the shore of the sea, He called, "Follow me 

And I'll make you fishers of men." 

He is calling to-day, in the same earnest way; 

He is calling for fishers again; 

And the brightest names known up around God's throne 

Will be those who were fishers of men. 



The Quarrelsome Watch. 

For as we have many members in one body, and all members have 
not the same office; so we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every 
one members one of another. — Rom. 12: 4, 5. 

The eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor 
again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. Nay, much more 
those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are 
necessary. — i Cor. 12: 21, 22. 

While winding my watch the other night I imagined 
the various parts that enter into its construction were 
engaged in a very animated discussion. I listened, and 
heard the mainspring say in a complaining mood, "I 
am shut up here in this prison and can only pull and pull 


to make the rest of you go, and I'm getting very tired of 
it. I am the essential part of any watch, and I protest 
against such treatment from my inferiors." 

At this seemingly unprovoked attack the balance 
wheel chimed out, "I am quite as necessary as you are," 
laying a great deal of emphasis on the personal pronouns, 
'•and here I am being constantly jerked from side to 
side till I am so dizzy I could not stand alone, if I had 
the privilege of trying. It is too bad." 

This explosive speech from the somewhat unbalanced 
wheel gave the delicate hairspring occasion to relate her 
grievances, which she did in very plain language. "Do 
you mean to insinuate," said she, ''that I am the cause 
of all your annoyance.-^ You are forever determined to go 
to one extreme or the other, and I am so tired trying to 
keep you in your proper place that I think I shall 
certainly have an attack of nervous prostration. Will 
you not hereafter conduct yourself as a balance wheel 
should.? And please do not insinuate, at least while you 
are so eccentric, that I am of little importance. If it 
were not for me, delicate as I am, a watch would not be 
a watch." 

Then the second hand accused the minute hand of 
being lazy, and the minute hand retorted by saying, "I 
am not lazy, I would have you know. You certainly 
have forgotten that I have a greater distance to travel 
than you have, and that my work is much more important 
than yours, for while you tick off the seconds I count the 
minutes. Besides, I perform twelve times as much 
labor as my neighbor, the hour hand, for he travels 
around the face of this dial but twice in twenty-four 


hours, while I go around twenty-four times. I've a great 
mind to sue you for slander for accusing me of being 

Before the minute hand had finished his harangue the 
hour hand interrupted him by saying, "The insinuation 
you have just made to your noisy little neighbor, that I 
am not doing my duty is false and ridiculous. It is my 
business, as you very well know, to mark the hours as 
they go by, while it is your business" — and this was 
spoken in such an emphatic way as to convey the im- 
pression that the minute hand was inclined to meddle 
with the business of others — "to tell off the minutes. 
This duty I have done faithfully and well. It requires 
sixty minutes to make an hour, therefore I am sixty 
times more important than you. I am come to bear 
witness to the truth." 

Just then the watch suddenly stopped, and the com- 
bined efforts of all the hands and of all the springs could 
not move a wheel. The conference assumed a different 
aspect, and upon due inquiry it was found that a very 
small cog had been broken out of a very insignificant 
little wheel — presumably by the bickering and contention 
that had prevailed — rendering the watch practically 


Unfortunately, there are egotistic, disparaging, con- 
tentious church members as well as self-centered, 
hypercritical watch springs, hands and wheels, and the 
one is as ruinous to the church as the other is to the 
watch. Let us strive to realize that "those members of 
the body which seem to be more feeble are necessary," 


and as Christians govern ourselves in harmony therewith. 
Nothing more quickly destroys the usefulness of a congre- 
gation than for the spirit of fault-finding and disparage- 
ment to prevail. Keep selfishness without by keeping 
love within. 


In a dark old German forest, 

Where the pines stood straight and tall, 
Grew a little stunted fir tree. 

Shunned and hated by them all. 
Green moss carpets spread about it, 

Into fairy patterns traced; 
Where the squirrels frisked and chattered. 

And the shy rabbits raced. 

There the lofty oaks and hemlocks 

Held the song-winds in their heart; . 
But the patient little lir tree 

Stood neglected and apart. 
Not a bird would bend its branches, 

Not a star would smile on him, 
Not a single shaft of sunlight 

Would slide through his branches dim. 

Soon the summer days were ended. 

And the snow-king of the north, 
From his frozen home of crystal, 

On his white steed sallied forth. 
Then a light of pearl and amber 

Rose and smoldered in the west, 
While the ground was white with snowfiakes, 

And the trees in ermine dressed. 


From the quaint old German chapel, 

Standing black against the sky, 
Sweet the Christmas chimes were pealing, 

When St. Nicholas passed by. 
And the good old saint at twilight, 

Speeding through the naked wood, 
Saw the lonely, patient fir tree, — 

And he, blessed it as it stood. 

Lo, that night the pines and cedars 

Flung their dark arms far and wide; 
While within the wax-lit chapel 

Stood the fir-tree, glorified. 
Starred with tapers, hung with love-gifts. 

Wound with ribbons every bough; 
And the shining eyes of children 

Were his sunshine, — and are now. 



And he called the name of the place Kibroth-hattaavah: because there 
they buried the people that lusted. — Num. 11: 34. 

Yesterday a man who had grown prematurely old on 
account of his profligacy, committed suicide, and today 
he was buried — that is his body was buried. It was the 
last of many funerals he had had, for often before this, 
strange as it may seem, he had been guilty of self-de- 
struction. His first act was to deliberately destroy his 
self-respect. This he had done by cherishing secretly 
ths desire to commit sins of various kinds until he had 
' ceased to think himself as a manly man. The deed was 
done by repeatedly administering a slow poison. Each 
time that the suggestion eaine to him to do wrong he 


entertained it, till ere long his self-respect was dead. 
Returning from the lonely grave where, during the dark- 
ness of the night, he had buried this noble and vital 
part of himself, he garroted his conscience to death. It 
was an awful struggle, but he had grown desperate be- 
cause of the dreadful but true accusations his conscience 
persisted in bringing against him from time to time, and 
in his desperation he succeeded in accomplishing his 
dastardly purpose. By the side of his deceased self- 
respect, in an unmarked grave, he secretly buried his 

Soon after this he murdered his reputation. It was 
a great shock to all who knew him. The funeral, unlike 
the other two that he had had, was public, and there 
were many present. One of the peculiar features was 
that the murderer himself acted as one of the pall 
bearers, and would have been the chief mourner only 
that he did not realize fully what he had done by 
destroying his reputation. There were others, however, 
who wept for him, and came again and again to the 
grave with inconsolable grief, among them a noble 
father, a fond mother, a loving wife, and innocent 

Then, as if possessed by the very demons of self- 
destruction, the monomaniac slew his usefulness, his 
happiness, and his hope, and these were all buried near 
ea;ch other beside his reputation — never to be resurrected. 
All this time he had been making repeated attacks upon 
his character, till at last that also lay slain before him, 
bearing the marks of the dagger with which it had been 
repeatedly wounded — finally unto death. 


Sometimes indeed the miserable man, like the prodi- 
gal that he was, '-when he came to himself," would 
entertain the desire to resurrect and resuscitate these 
essential attributes of himself, but, alas, how could he 
do it? Realizing his weakness — his inability to give 
life to the dead — disappointed, despondent, utterly 
wretched he slew his body — which was the least of all 
the great crimes he had committed against himself, 
terrible as it was. 


Friends and relatives, sadly realizing what had been 
the primary cause of all that had occurred, called the 
cemeteries where the man's noble attributes were en- 
tombed, as well as where his body was buried, Kibroth- 
hattaavah — "the graves of lust" — and vainly endeavoring 
to assuage each other's grief could only say, 

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen. 

The saddest are these, It might have been." 



Though in thy name of treasure there be nought, 

And scant the store from which to do or have 

Though larger gifts thy heart devoutly crave 

And wider scope for action thou hast sought 

To find thy yearning feebler faith hath wrought, 

Thy culture scantier fruitage, seeming, gave, 

And chalbnged ills — thy courage sought to brave — 

New weapons to the field of conflict brought: — 

Yield not, disheartened, to the subtil foe! 

From out the clouds — through yonder shining rift — 

Come snatches wafted of victorious song 

From those who suffered most of earthly woe! 

The race is xvo\. forever to the swift 

Nor is the battle, always, to the strong 



The Lost Child. 

The Son of man is come to save that which was lost. — Matt. 18: 11. 

Yesterday morning I witnessed a rare but sadly 
beautiful and very suggestive sight. Being out on the 
street at an early hour I saw a lost child, or rather a 
child that soon would have been lost had it not been for 
an observing, kind-hearted man. The gate in the front 
of the house had been left ajar and the little fellow 
had found it, while playing in the front yard, and had 
gone out, and was almost a block away from home when 
the thoughtful man coming down the street saw that the 
child — two and a half or three years of age — was alone, 
and recognizing it was one of his neighbor's children he 

Pitcher of Tears. 
From the Painting by Paul Thuman. 


Stooped down and said coaxin^ly, "Put your little hand 
in mine, and I will take you home. You might get hurt 
on the street." The wee one immediately reached up 
its tiny, chubby hand and placed it confidingly in the 
hard, horny hand of its savior — the man like our Master, 
was a carpenter — to be led safely home. Looking back 
over my shoulder, as I passed on I saw the man and the 
child walking together hand in hand away from danger — 
toward home. 


How strikingly this illustrates the mission and work 
of the Savior and his disciples. He came to save the lost, 
and is saying to every one who is wandering away, "Put 
your hand in mine, and I will lead you safely home." 



He built a house, time laid it in the dust; 
He wrote a book, its title now forgot; 
He ruled a city, but his name is not 

On any tablet graven, or where rust 

Can gather from disuse, or marble bust. 
He took a child from out a wretched cot, 
Who on the State dishonor might have brought, 

And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust. 

The boy, to manhood grown, became a Ught 
To many souls, and preached for human need 
The wonderous love of the Omnipotent. 

The work has multiplied like stars at night 
When darkness deepens; every noble deed 
Lasts longer than a granite monument. 



The Laborer and His Burden. 

"Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee." — Ps. 55; 22. 

A common sight in the rural and mining districts in 
the West is that of laboring men, such as farm hands, 
miners and others who perform similar labor, going on 
foot from place to place in search of employment, 
carrying athwart their shoulders a roll of blankets or 
"conforters. " Wherever night overtakes them they spread 
their blankets on the bare ground — if they can do no 
better, which is frequently inpossible — lie down and 
sleep as best they can till morning, when they roll their 
blankets up again, place them on their shoulders, and 
continue on their journey. 


How many people there are who have burdens of 
various kinds that they use in a similar way. They 
carry them about wherever they go all day, sleep on 
them at night — if they sleep at all — take them up again 
and pack them away in the morning. This process they 
repeat regularly every twenty-four hours. Is it any 
wonder that they complain of being tired.? Why not cast 
thy burden upon the Lord.'' Yes, why not.? 



— o — 

Some pretty little sparrows had worked with all their might, 
Beginning very early, as soon as it was light, 
And had at last completed, in a tall old maple tree 
A nest that was as cosy as any nest could be. 

The nest had been constructed out of moss, and wool, and hair. 
And bits of rags and paper, they'd picked up here and there. 
The work had not been slighted in any way at all. 
They had carried out exactly the details, great and small, 

Of the Supreme Designer who had given them the plan, 
And taught them how to build as only sparrows can. 
But they'd made a mighty blunder in the choice of a place, 
Which, like a fatal journey, they never could retrace 

The maple had a rotten limb — one limb among the rest — 
And here the foolish sparrows built their cosy, little nest 
In which to rear their fledglings and teach them how to fly, 
While the summer and the autumn were gliding swiftly by. 

Last night the rain descended and the wind blew hard and long — 
This morning, as there had been, there was no sparrow's song! 
But beneath the maple tree was limb, and nest, and all, 
A shapeless, hopeless wreck — caused by folly and the fall. 

These sparrows may have builded many another nest, 
But this one's been more valuable to us than all the rest, 
If by it we've learned the lesson, so easy to be known. 
That as reapers we shall gather whatever we have sown. 



The Old Foundation. 

I am resolved what to do — Lnke i6: 4. 
This will I do.— Luke 12: 18. 

On a large and very finely located corner lot in the 
best residence portion of the city, overlooking the busi- 
ness nouses, halls, churches and other buildings below, 
the long wharf that extends far out into the harbor, and 
the majestic Pacific that stretches westward as far as the 
eye can look — the horizon only being broken by a few 
groups of small islands thirty or forty miles away — may 
be seen the substantial fondation of fine red sandstone, 
where some years ago a man began to erect an elegant 
residence. It was in the days of the ''boom", when all 
sorts of people were guilty of all kinds of chimerical 
eccentricities, that this was done, and it remains like 
many another old foundation or unfinished and unoccu- 
pied structure to ''point a moral or adorn a tale" — or 
preach a sermon. 

The foundation is a very essential part of every 
building and should be equally or more substantial than 
the superstructure that is to stand upon it. But the 
foundation is not the house, and it will never develop 
into one by any law of nature or evolution. It requires 
the patient, persistant, well-directed industry of many 
laborers — masons, carpenters, plasterers, painters, and 
decorators — to rear the edifice in accordance with the 
architect's plans. 


The temple of Christian charac^ter must be built — 
built by patient toil. To lay the foundation by firm 


resolution is quite necessary, but it is not enough. No 
person ever did or ever can become a wise master-builder 
of Christian character who did not do more than form 
good resolutions. Whoever has resolved to erect the 
majestically beautiful temple of Christian character, 
according to the plans approved by the Chief Architect, 
has done well, but he should begin at once to carry out 
his good resolutions. Much valuable time is being wasted 
by waiting, and the temple, so admirably designed, may 
never be finished — sadder still, the erection of the 
superstructure may never be ■ begun. Delays are 
treacherous. Begin now. 



I have a castle in far Spain, 

With alabaster walls; 
Gigantic statues crown the towers, 

High-vaulted are the walls; 
And there are many frescoed rooms, 

All hung with pictures rare, 
And when I seek this sheltered spot, 

My soul doth know no care. 

The battlemented heights arise, 

Of mountains towering high; 
Like sentinels they watch from out 

An andalusian sky; 
Blows soft the breeze o'er purple seas, 

That lap my castle walls; 
The water from the porphyry fount, 

Most musically falls. 


But oh I dream, ye are but dreams; 

I have no castle walls, 
For work and duty, toil and care, 

My very soul enthralls, 
But yet when sinks the sun to rest, 

And toils and cares surcease, 
I love o build my castle halls, 

And dwell therein in peace. 

Nay, nay, perhaps it is not all 

A dream, that somewhere lies, 
A house immaculately fair, 

Beyond the sunset skies; 
Perhaps beyond the stars of night, 

Beyond the jasper sea. 
My soul shall rest in mansions fair. 


Two Trees with Two Desires. 

Not as I will, but as thou wilt. — Matt. 26: 39. 

Two fine young trees of the same variety, very much 
admired by all the other trees about them, grew close 
together in a great forest. The two trees were, in most 
respects, congenial spirits, and often engaged in pleasant 
conversation with each other, though concerning one 
thing they could not agree. They frequently heard the 
sound of the woodman's ax as it reverberated through 
the forest and echoed and re-echoed from hill to hill, and 
the crash and roar of falling timber often startled them. 
They fully realized that at any time they, too, might 
fall before the sturdy woodman's ax. To one of the 
trees this was a source of no small degree of discomfort 
and anxiety. It could not get its consent to yield to the 
wish of the woodman and be cut down. In fact it was 


very painful to it to think of this being the fate of such a 
beautiful, symmetrical and much-admired tree as it was. 
The disposition of the other tree in this respect was 
altogether different. It always said calmly, whenever 
the subject was touched upon in their conversation, 
"Whatever is best — the woodman knoweth." 

Early one morning they heard the sound of ap- 
proaching footsteps, and presently the woodman appeared 
with his keen ax athwart his shoulder. He advanced 
directly toward the complaining tree as though he in- 
tended to hew it down, but whether or not he heard the 
plaintive plea it was making to be left standing, he only 
looked at it and passed on to its companion, and with 
well-directed strokes with his good ax, soon laid it low. 
Then men came with teams and wagons and hauled it 
away to a great ship-yard by the sea where it was 
utilized in building a majestic ship to voyage the ocean 
and carry the people and products of great nations. 

The other tree stood for some time in sadness and 
loneliness — for, though in the midst of and much ad- 
mired by many others of its kind, it had been deprived 
of companionship — admiration is not fellowship; it lacks 
reciprocity, congeniality, warmth, soul. There it stood 
till one night a storm passed over the forest and it with 
many others was prostrated. There it lay year after 
year, being gradually comsumed by decay, until it became 
absolutely worthless even for fuel. "Whatever is best 
— the woodman knoweth." 


Beyond a doubt many a person who has cherished a 
spirit of discontent and insubordination has been left to 


y his "own sweet way" without any interference on 
)art of Him who knows best the purpose for which 
)uld be utihzed. He has been left standing selfishly 
is place until some storm has laid him low to rot 
' by slow degrees and at last become uttery worth- 
To all inquiries and questionings, whether from 
3ut or within, the one safe answer is: "Whatever is 
—the Woodman knoweth." "Not as I will, but as 


— o — 

Two men toiled side by side from sun to sun, 

And both were poor; 
Both sat with children, when the day was done, 

About their door. 
One saw the beautiful in crimson cloud 

And shining moon; 
The other, with his head in sadness bowed, 

Made night of noon. 
One loved each tree and flower and singing bird 

On mount or plain; 
No music in the soul of one was stirred 

By leaf or rain" 
One saw the good in every fellow-man, 

And hoped the best; 
The other marvelled at his Master's plan, 

And doubt confessed. 
One, having heaven above and heaven below, 

Was satisfied; 
The other, discontented, lived in woe, 

And hopeless died. 




The Plough. 
From the Painting by W. C. T. Dobson. 


Not Peace, but a Sword. 

Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to 
send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance 
against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter 
in law against her mother in law. And a man's foes shall be they of his 
own household — Matt 10: 34-36. 

Suppose you are walking with a farmer across his 
meadow. The grass is green and beautiful, and here and 
there the loveliest flowers imaginable — dandelions, 
Johnny-jump-ups, daffodils and other early spring-time 
blossoms — smile at you as you pass. The farmer says, 
"Is is my intentention to destroy all this grass and all 
of these flowers as soon as I can possibly do so." You 
are astonished and exclaim, "Destroy them! Why 
should you do that.? They are not noxious plants. They 
are beautiful and useful and should be preserved." And 
you feel really indignant, and wish you had the power to 
keep him from carrying out his purpose. 

But when the farmer explains that he desires to 
raise a crop of corn where the grass is growing and the 
flowers are blooming, and that it is absolutely necessary 
to plow the ground and thus destroy all the vegetation 
in order that corn, which will be much more valuable, 
may be produced, you no longer object to that which 
the farmer expects to do, but find yourself heartily 
coinciding with him in his purpose. 

A party of surveyors is going through the country 
"running lines" through orchards and vineyards and 
across grain fields, and it is the accredited report that 
they are employed by a powerful company whose purpose 


it is to destroy everything — trees, vines and growing 
grain — where the survey is being made. And in a few 
days men come with axes, and mattocks and plows a,nd 
the work of destruction begins. You are filled with 
indignation at what you believe to be the ruthless and 
wanton destruction of valuable property, but when you 
understand that a great rail road is being constructed, 
and that there will not only be a fair price paid for the 
property they are compelled to destroy in order to build 
the road, but that there will also be increased facilities 
for transportation, better prices for all products, and 
many other advantages that will accrue to those who are 
sustaining the loss of a portion of their possessions, you 
not only become reconciled to the work of destruction 
but fully endorse all that is being done. 


This faintly illustrates the aggressiveness of the 
gospel. That the blessings of a righteous life may be 
enjoyed, it sometimes becomes necessary that the wishes 
of one's own family must be disregarded, if they oppose 
the step that is being taken. 

If the son or daughter who purposes becoming a 
Christian yields to the opposition of father or mother, it 
may result in preventing or restoring domestic tranquility 
— peace in the home — but there can be no harvest of 
righteousness. If a choice must be made, which shall it 
be.-^ Blessed is that person who makes no mistake. 
**When my father and my mother forsake me, then the 
Lord will take me up." The greater blessing of present 
and eternal salvation through Christ should be accepted 
by every person even if it seems to preclude that of 


domestic happiness, for almost invariably reconciliation 
will follow any alienation growing out of the acceptance 
of Christ as a personal Savior. 


I've sometimes thought the road's been long and dreary, 
That with aching heart and head and limbs a-weary, 

I've trod; 
And that the summer sun, nearer my noonday. 
Has fiercer shown; and. that I'.ve been going away 

From God — 
While climbing up the grade. 

Sometimes I've looked about me and the view 

So circumscribed, so near, has shown me nothing new. 

Or strange. 
Before me and on either side I've only seen 
Hills and mountains high with gorges deep between 

Each range — 
While struggling up the grade. 

Again, at times, I've glimpses caught of pine-clad peaks, 
And snow-capped mountain tops touched by crimson streaks 
At morn 


That made me think perhaps I did not blindly grope 
My upward way, for these rare glimpses gave a hope 
New born — 
While toiling up the grade. 

And when I've paused and backward cast my eyes, 
Seen how blessings often came in queer disguise, 

I've wept, 
Because I'd murmered at the goodness of the Lord, 
When every promise, according to his word. 

He'd kept — 
While going up the grade. 


Pine Creek Caverns, 

"Thy testimonies are wonderful." — Ps. iig: 129. 

In the territory of Arizona — a land where many 
strange things abound — some eighty miles in a direct 
course, north east of Phoenix near the boundary line be- 
tween the counties of Gila and Coconino, on Pine Creek, 
there is a series of subterranean caverns that is truly 
wonderful. One striking peculiarity about these under- 
ground rooms or chambers is that they are all connected 
together by small openings or fissures, so that upon 
entering one of them a passage, sometimes quite narrow 
and tortuous, leads to another and this is connected in 
a similar manner with other chambers — and so on and 


on one may go, no person knows how far, through a 
perfect labyrinth of aisles, fissures, grottoes and caves. 

Living near these caverns is a quaint old Scotchman 
— David Gowan, by name — who for many years has 
made this his home, and who, but for his pronounced 
sociability, might truly be called the "Scotch Hermit of 
the Pine Creek Caverns" — his nearest neighbor living six 
miles away. This daring old Scotchman has frequently 
explored this net-work of subterreanean passages for 
quite long distances, and is of the opinion that he has 
scarcely made a beginning. He says that he can take 
the visitor to new caverns day after day for a month or 
more. Though difficult of access these grottoes are so 
remarkable that year after year many sight-seers visit 
them, and "Dave" Gowan is never happier than when 
conducting a party of visitors through this "Mystic 

There are stalactites, more delicate and beautiful than 
the drapery of a kings bed-chamber, suspended from the 
ceilings of these under-ground rooms, while the walls in 
many places are studded with crystals that, reflecting the 
light from the visitor's candles, are more bewitchingly 
enchanting than any of the fanciful revelations of 
"Arabian Nights" would be if they were real. The 
explorer is agreeably surprised — charmed — at every step 
he takes as he enters cavern after cavern — the last one 
apparently more enchanting than any of those seen be- 
fore. And when he ceases his explorations, and realizes 
that in addition to all that he has seen there is an un- 
known number more of unexplored grottoes as interesting 
as any he has entered his amazement and admiration 


know no bounds, and he exclaims; "how marvelous is 
the handwork of God. His testimonies are wonderfull" 


Much of the beauty of God's work is to be found in 
inner chanlbers, hidden away from the superficial view 
of uninterested persons. The discovery and exploration 
of one truth in the scriptures leads to the discovery- of 
other truths richer and more precious than the first, and 
so on and on endlessly. God's testemonies in revelation 
as well as in nature are indeed wonderful. Explore 
God's word for the beautiful things that are concealed 


— o — 

A flush to the eastward, a rich glow of light, 

Long pencils of brightness that pierce through the night; 

Soft swaying of tree-tops, lOw rustle of corn, 

A breeze o'er the meadows that heralds the morn. 

Bright sun-spears dart forth from the vault to green-sod, 

And "the heavens declare the glory of God." 

From morn's dewy brightness to noon's breathless glare, 
From hush and from stillness to labor's loud blare; 
Swift falling of footsteps, brisk words of command. 
With rigor relentless toil rules o'er the land. 
In pomp to the zenith the Day-king has trod. 
And "the heavens declare the glory of God." 

A glow to the westward fast fading away, 
Cloud curtains drop low o'er the windows of day; 
Sweet odor of night flowers, low twitter of birds, 
The satisfied lowing of home-coming herds, 
So drowsy the stillness the stately trees nod, 
And "the heavens declare the glory of God." 

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The gray shades of twilight trail noislessly by; 
The deep gloom of midnight sweeps over the sky. 
And then, as the weary world sinks into sleep, 
Night hangs out her star-lamps a vigil to keep 
Through far realms of splendor no mortal e'er trod; 
And "the heavens declare the glory of God." 



Implicit Obedience. 

Jesus, walking by the sea of Galilee, saw two brothers, Simon called 
Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea; for they were 
fishers. And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers 
of men. And they straightway left their nets and followed him. And 
going on from thence, he saw two other brethren, James the son of 
Zebedee, and John his brother, in a ship with Zebedee their father 
mending their nets; and he called them. And they immediately left the 
ship and their father, and followed him. — Matt. 4: 18-22. 

Circuit court was in session. On the street a group 
of men stood talking when the baihff of the court came 
out on the balcony of the court house, which stood in 
the center of the small "public square," and with a loud 
voice called, "Alex S y. " One of the men immedi- 
ately said, "Excuse me, gentlemen, I am wanted in 
court. The bailiff is calling me." And he went at once, 
not waiting to finish the conversation in which they were 
so earnestly engaged. 

A group of school children were playing together 
when one of the teachers came to the door and called, 
"Clara, Clara Smith, come here, pleace. " The obedient 
girl, as much as she was interested in the game, did not 
hesitate to give it up, and to respond quickly and cheer- 
fully to the call of her teacher. 

War seemed imminent. It was thought that it could 


not possibly be averted, and inthe interest of an oppres- 
sed people the sooner it came the better, but even more 
quickly than was expected the crisis came which was 
immediately followed by a declaration of war against a 
foreign nation. A call for volunteers was made, and 
thousands of strong young men responded at once. 
They literally gave up all — business, professions, college, 
home, every thing-^and went to sufffef hardships, endure 
privations, and many of them to meet death in a strange 
land, at the call of their country. 

Disease had laid 'its wasting hand on an only son who 
was hundreds of miles from hom.e. The telegram that 
came to his father conveyed the sad intelligence that, ' 'he 
whom thou lovest is sick, " and without waiting to arrange 
his business, or to bid adieu to his host of friends, the 
father took the first train out of the city that he might 
as quickly as possible reach and niinister to his sick 
child. The call was an urgent one and he responded 

A fire had broken out in a large apartment house. 
The red glare of the burning building illuminated the 
midnight sky. Scores of people, wrapt in slumber, 
unconscious of the danger they were in, must be aroused 
and rescued with all possible haste or it will be too late. 
There is not a moment to delay. The signal is given 
for help. Firemen spring from their beds, and the 
horses to their places at the engines, and with the utmost 
speed they hasten to render assistance. The next 
morning the papers tell of the prompj:ness of the fireme>i;^ 
in responding to the call, and of their faithfulness and 
heroism in saving life and property. 



Now, as when in the days of his earthly sojourn the 
the Master, walking by the sea of Galilee, called the 
fishermen to follow him, he is calling for men to become 
his disciples, than which there is no call that should be 
more quickly heeded. It is both a duty and a privilege 
to respond to the call of the Savior that comes to all with 
such encouraging importunity: "Follow me, and I will 
make you fishers of men." 

These Galileean fishermen would never have been 
known outside of a few small fishing villages on the 
shores of the sea of Tiberias if they had refused to 
accept this invitation, but obeying the command of 
Christ to follow him their names are now household 
words in all Christian lands. Following Jesus did more 
for these humble fishermen, as it always does for all those 
who heed his call, than they had expected, and it also 
enabled them to accomplish a much greater work for 
others. He was the Original Teacher — for "never man 
spake like this man" — and they became his disciples. 
His call was then and is still to discipleship, which 
includes obedience and self-denial, and — success, — the 
greatest success in this life, for to be fishers or saviors of 
men surpasses in importance every other worthy achieve- 
ment. I pray you heed at once the call of the Savior. 
Souls are perishing. Come to Christ and then go 
quickly and save them. 




If I could have heard the spoken word 
That the depths of the human spirit stirred; 

If I could have heard the voice that broke 
The silence deep when the Master spoke; 

If the accents sweet of his peace and love, 
And the wisdom deep from the land above, 

Could have come to these leaden ears of mine 
To carry to me his grace benign; 

If the winds from over the stormy sea, 
The waters of dark blue Galilee, 

Had wafted to me his "Peace, be still !" 
The words of strength that the spirit thrill; 

If to me in the treadmill toil of life, 
In the soul's unrest, and burning strife, 

The soothing sound of his blessed "Come 1" 
Had sounded above life's busy hum; 

If the power that breathed on the angry sea, 

In its love and might could have breathed on me; 

Ah, then, how easy for faith to rise, 
And scales to fall from my blinded eyes. 

How easy to take his outstretched hand. 
How easy to heed each light demand ! 

But, O, with the sound so far away, 
And this heedless heart so far astray, 

Can ever I hear his pleading voice, 

Or my soul of his living love make choice ? 


Cross on the Mountain. 
From the Painting by B. Woltz. 


The Cross Above the Fog. 

"The cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are 
saved it is the power of God." — i Cor. i: i8. 

Some years ago in one of the "States," as the people 
on the Pacific coast speak of the East, a boy was accus- 
tomed to climb to the top of a high hill near his home, 
which on clear days afforded a magnificent view of the 
surrounding country for many miles in every direction. 
It was a real panorama. The farms and forests lay 
spread out before him like a great map, while nestled 
cosily at the foot of the hill was the village in which he 

One foggy day in the early spring he ascended to the 
top of this hill — his favorite "lookout" — but the view 
was exceedingly circumscribed. The farms and orch- 
ards and "woods," that his eyes had looked upon a 
thousand times from this view-point, were invisible. The 
village below him and only a short distance away was 
almost concealed from sight — there was only to be seen 
a ghostly spectre of a village so wierd and unnatural in 
appearance that one might easily have imagined it to 
be inhabited only by disembodied spirits. Not a house 
in it could be clearly seen. Every object was concealed 
from view, or seen as if "through a glass darkly," on 
account of the murky, tenacious, cloud-like mist by 
which everything that was near the earth was en- 

But the boy was above the fog. For him the sun 
shone brightly, and the beautiful blue sky bent over 
him. And just above the sea of thick, heavy mist that 


hung over the village and obscured it from view was the 
bronze cross that surmounted the spire of the church. 

Emblem of Christ, blessed symbol of salvation, it 
too was above the fog. 


To see Christ we must get up above the fog of specu- 
lation and the mists of doubt and uncertainty. To those 
who dwell upon the highest hill-tops of trustful obedi- 
ence the cross is always plainly visible, and is ever 
hailed, not as a symbol of foolishness, but as a sign and 
seal of present and eternal salvation. Come up higher. 


— o — 

Let me, while life leaps in my veins, 

Be proud and free; 
Let foolish preachers load no chains 

Of faith on me — 
While I have strength and youth, let facts, 
Not legends, guide my thoughts and acts. 

While life is at the flood let no 

Old notion rise 
To turn my gaze from things below 

Unto the skies — - 
Let Reason be my master then 
And lead me, fearless, among men. 

While vigor lingers in my limbs 

And skies are fair, 
I'll waste no time in singing hyms, 

I'll have no prayer — 
Without a fear of night ahead, 
I'll scoff at him who kneels in dread. 


I'll have no God to serve or fear, 

When strength is mine; 
I'll laugh at him who thinks the ear 

Of One divine 
Hears all the paeans here below, 
The songs of faith, the wails of woe ! 

But when I bend beneath the load 

That age lays on, 
When darkness settles o'er the road 

And strength is gone. 
Then, from the mists and clouds of doubt, 
Let sweet old beams of hope shine out 1 

Let rae, while life leaps in my veins, 

Be proud and free: 
Let Reason firmly hold the reins, 

Then, over me — 
But when the long night comes, I pray 
That Faith be there to show the way ! 



Sleep well, young Faith, sleep well ! 

Doubt shall not raise o'er thee his ugly head, 

Doubt is forever dead 

To thee, — so rest ye well ! 

Sleep well, calm Faith, sleep well ! 

Within thy dreams the shepherds saw a star, 

Follow its pathway far. 

So with thee all be well ! 


Sleep well, tried Faith, sleep well ! 
Rise brave begirt when Dawn shall call 
Her certain warriors; thou shalt not fall. 
The night is short, sleep well ! 

Sleep well, old Faith, — 'tis well 
With thee ! Old Faith shall young awake; 
Love, Hope, nor Destiny, their promise break ! 
Sleep well, old Faith, sleep well ! 
From "Within the Hedge" by MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON. 
Copyright by Doubledav & McClure Co. 


I do not ask to always sail 
Life's fair and sunny seas, 
Nor that my feet shall only press 
Earth's flowery paths of ease; 
Yet this, dear Lord, I ask in love, 
Light from above ! 

I do not ask for wealth or fame, 
Or aught that gold can bring. 
Nor that the hours so softly glide, 
My heart shall always sing; 
Yet this, dear Lord, I ask in love, 
Light from above ! 

From the Painting by Gabriel Max. 


I do not ask to have removed 
The thorns which hurt my feet. 
Nor that no dart and bitter draught 
Be mingled wit the sweet; 
I only ask, dear Lord, in love, 
Light from above ! 

And this 1 ask— Thy face to see, 
To feel Thy strong arm near, 
A faith which trusts to Thy decree. 
And knows no doubt nor fear; 
These are, dear Lord, I know in love, 
Light from above ! 


Light and Joy. 

Unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with 
healing in his wings. — Mai. 4: 2. 

Ages ago there lived on a remote planet a race of 
men who had no light except what the stars gave them. 
Generation after generation came into existence, groped 
about in darkness for a short time, and died. An 
opinion prevailed among them all that there must be 
greater light somewhere than they had. All kinds of 
artificial lights were kindled in all sorts of places, partly 
to supply the deficiency, but mainly with a hope, almost 
forlorn, of thus attracting the greater light to them that 
they believed existed somewhere. At last they beheld 
with great joy a strange new light-giver just above the 
western horizon. It was in the shape of a crescent, and 
wholly unlike anything they had ever seen before. It 
gave a very faint light, and seemed abashed at being in 


the presence of so many brighter Hghts. It remained 
but a short time, and as it sank out of sight below the 
western horizon, hope sank with it. It was not gone 
long however till, to their glad surprise, it returned, and 
this time remained a little longer than at first. It came 
back a second time, and not only stayed longer than be- 
fore, but was perceptibly larger and brighter than it had 
been at either of its former visits. Hope began to 
revive. Again and again this new luminary returned, 
and each time a little earlier than before. It was also 
tardier in leaving — in fact seemed to regret to go. Its 
size and brightness continued to increase. Hope grew 

In time what had attracted their attention at first as 
a pale crescent appeared in the heavens as a great orb 
of light — round and full. But even then there were 
many who believed there was a greater light still, and 
this belief was strengthened when the great luminary 
begun to decrease in size and brilliancy. Now each 
time it returned it was smaller and gave less light than 
before. By and by it came no more. All that was 
then left to them was the light of the stars, and a 
tradition handed down from generation to generation 
that there had been a greater light-giver than these. 
But these were sufficient to cause them to anxiously 
expect it to appear again. Many were watching the 
western heavens, when suddenly there appeared in the 
east a star of great brilliancy. All eyes were at once 
turned towards it. As they had been told that the first 
great light had appeared in the west, they were naturally 
looking in that direction for a second one and were 


greatly surprised when it was seen in an opposite direc- 
tion, and many would not have looked at it at all if its 
peculiar brightness had not compelled them to do so. 
**The first gieat light appeared to our forefathers," they 
said, "in the west, and would not the second one appear 
there also ?" 

While the discussion was going on, and the traditions 
were being repeated, the star continued to shine. How- 
ever the wise men among them might argue the star cast 
its effulgent light upon them. All the people knew that 
the star was shining. 

Gradually the eastern heavens grew lighter. One by 
one the stars ceased to shine, or at least their light was 
no longer visible. Even the star that had recently 
attracted so much attention and elicited so much 
discussion lost its brilliancy. There was more light than 
they had ever had before, and yet there was no apparent 
source. All were anxious and amazed. A satisfactory 
explanation of this strange phenomenon seemed im- 
possible. The astrologers were comsulted, but they 
could not solve the perplexing problem. "From whence 
comes all this light ? Why have the stars hidden their 
faces ? Shall we be left long in doubt and uncertainty .?" 
These and many other similar questions indicated the 
deep anxiety of the people. 

While they mused and wondered there appeared 
above the eastern horizon the long-expected light-giver ! 
Joy beamed from every face. The ages of weary 
watching were at last at an end. The long, long dark- 
ness was dispelled. Why should there not be rejoicing .-* 
Aye, with exceeding great joy ! 



During the patriarchal dispensation there was only 
the starlight of revelation. The patriarchs realized the 
need of a deliverer — a Savior — but he was not clearly 
revealed to them. The hope of immortality was also 
present, but it was only a hope, and did not satisfy. 
The desire for a knowledge of life everlasting, as in all 
human hearts, was strong but its assurance was not fully 
given to them. They also wanted a better aquaintance 
with God. Job said, "Oh that I knew where I might 
find him. Surely I would speak to the Almighty, and I 
desire to reason with him. Behold, I go forward, but he 
is not there; and backward, but I can not perceive him; 
he hideth himself on the right hand, that I can not see 
him." They all anxiously desired and expected fuller 

This knowledge — a fuller revelation— came under the 
Jewish dispensation. Here the people had moonlight. 
Prophet after prophet was raised up, and the light of 
revelation increased intermittently until the time of the 
major prophets, when it was brightest, and then gradu- 
ally decreased and with Malachai ceased. For four 
hundred years the conditions were almost as they had 
been during the starlight age. 

Then the morning star arose — John the Baptist, the 
fore-runner of the Christian dispensation, came. The 
Jews were not expecting light from such a direction, and 
consequently would not take any more notice of John 
than they were compelled to take. The period of his 
light-giving was of comparatively short duration. He 
said himself, "I must decrease. '* After him, the Sun of 



righteousness arose with healing wings. Jesus Christ 
had come to bring Hfe and immortality to light. The 
Son had come to reveal the Father — to give the world a 
more perfect knowledge of God. The true light had 
indeed appeared. Why should there not be great re- 
joicing ? And why should not the angellic choir sing, 
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good 
will toward men r 

— o — 

All night beneath the cloudless summer sky. 

Not with effeminate draperies drawn round, 
But in unfettered majesty as warriors lie, 

The naked desert lay in sleep profound. 

No sound, no touch disturbed its slumbers deep; 

No trees could whisper on its bare, brown breast, 
No sound from man could interrupt its sleep; 

No breath of flowers disturb its peaceful rest. 

Deep stillness reigned; and when a streak of gray. 

Fast deepening into rosy red, 
Announced the coming of the royal day, 

I walked forth in the silence with bowed head. 

My feet were in the barren desert sand. 
But o'er me and around me the Most High 

Proclaimed his presence, as with lavish hand 
He spread his splendid glories in the sky. 

The east grew brighter; with no cloud in sight 
To take the brilliant beauty for its own. 

The wealth of color in the sun's rich light 
Was given to the calm, clear sky alone. 

i66 curfew's ringing. 

The sun arose above the level land, 

Its rising hidden by no bush or tree; 
It spread its slanting rays across the sand 

And changed the desert to a golden sea. 

I marvel not that untaught man should kneel 
And groping blindly for the Holy One, 

That he the presence of a God should feel, 
When bursts upon his sight the rising sun. 



The curfew rings, so faint and slow, 

Like some cathedral hymn; 
While brooklet in the vale below, 

Half hidden by the weeds that grow, 
Along its brim, 
Makes answer in each pulses' beat, 

A rythmic measure, low and sweet. 

Adown the hill, thro' woodlet pass. 

Quite buried in the gloom. 
Past fallows grown to weeds and grass 

And orchards white with blooms en masse 
The cows come home. 
I hear the cheery words of those 

Who mind the herds at daylight's close. 

And know to him who drives the kine 

The sweetest odors come 
From climbing rose and spraying vine 

And honey-suckles which entwine 
Their scarlet bloom 
With creamy elder-blows that edge 

The narrow path along the ledge. 


So night begins — the benison 

Her solemn hours bestow 
Becalms me like the touch of One 

Whose ministry on earth begun 
Ages ago. 
Touched by his loving hand we feel 

The fever leave, the earth-wounds heal. 


Investing in Corner Lots. 

"Joseph of Arimathaea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for 
fear of the Jews, besought Pilate that he might take away the body of 
Jesus." — Jno. 19: 38. 

"Among the chief rulers also many believed on hira; but because of 
the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the 
synagogue; for they loved the praise of God." — Jno. 12: 42-43. 

In a prosperous western city, with a "promising 
future," a capitalist invested a comparatively small sum 
of money in a ''corner lot," but did nothing to enhance 
their value, nor to promote the growth and prosperity of 
the city, though he had great faith in its future. It was 
not only advantageously located, but certainly the enter- 
prise of those who were establishing great manufacturies 
and erecting magnificent business blocks and handsome 
residences, foretold the coming greatness of the western 
metropolis. He could not be mistaken. The capital 
and labor of others would make his investment of a few 
hundred dollars a profitable one to him. How delighted 
he is to witness the marvelous growth of the city. Sub- 
stantial granite and iron buldings occupy the lots adjoin- 
ing his own, and electric cars, running to all parts of the 
city, pass their doors. Lucky investment. He has 


never willingly contributed a dollar — only the taxes that 
he has been compelled to pay — toward making the city 
what it is. Why should he gloat over his good luck? 


Many people tacitly ascent to the correctness of the 
Christian religion. They believe Christ's kingdom will 
become great, but they seldom give expression to that 
belief, and do nothing to hasten its coming. They have 
simply invested an insignificant amount, of whatever can 
be most easily spared — v^ithout interfering too much 
with their worldly plans and pleasures — in * 'corner lots." 
They contribute nothing to preach the gospel, relieve 
distress, support missionaries, endow colleges, build 
churches, or establish missions. They are selfishly 
pleased, however, to see others doing these things, be- 
cause they are being profited thereby. It is much more 
pleasant to live in a Christian comunity than in the midst 
of sinful surroundings, so they say, **Let the good work 
go on" — and it goes, in spite of their selfishness and lack 
of assistance. It is very doubtful if some of them would 
beg the body of Jesus to give it decent burial — it would 
cost them something. 




To do my work in this busy world, 

To speak an inspiring word; 
To be first, where the flag of the future's unfurled — 

To shout his name and be heard ! 
To stand in the ranks with the royal arms 

That shall never know defeat, 
And, faltering not at the false alarms 

To conquer and complete 
My own allotted task, and then 
March out with the legion loyal men, 

And ground my arms before the King — 

O this were a noble thing ! 
Aye, this were fairly worth the while 
The scorn, the scourging the derisive smile — 

The mocking of men in their pride — 

The cross of the crucified ! 


Air Castles. 

Your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see 
visions. — Joel 2: 28. 

Some years ago a blind musician, with his dog and 
accordeon came to the county seat of the county in 
which I was then living, and, standing on the street 
corner, he sang "some of the latest popular songs" to the 
delight of the people, especially the boys, who gathered 
round him, many of whom expressed their appreciation 
in a very material way, when the musician's old cap was 
transmuted into a contribution box, which was done at 
regular intervals while the "musical" continued. To 


the accompaniment of the old accordeon and the 
occasional barking of the trained dog he sang for an 
hour or more, and, with others who were passing, my 
boyish curiosity being in the accendency, I stopped to 
listen, and now, after the lapse of more than a quarter 
of a century, I vividly recall portions of some of the 
songs he sang, which I then heard for the first and last 
time. There were two sentences, of as many songs, that 
impressed me most then and do now. One of these 
sentences was this, which was frequently repeated in the 
chorus, ''This world will be better a hundred years 
hence," which is certainly a very cheerful, optimistic 
and, I believe, correct view of the future. 

The other sentence affirmed that, "Our own im- 
mortal Washington built castles in the air." I had always 
heard '*Air castles" spoken of derisively, and to thus be 
assured that the boy who declared that he could not tell 
a lie, and who afterward became the "father of his 
country" had at any time in his life engaged in the 
frivolous occupation of building aerial castles was almost 
too much for my boyish credulity. Frequently during 
the days and even weeks that followed I was troubled by 
the assertion that George Washington — the ideal of 
every patriotic American boy — had at any time in his 
life so far forgotten the dignity that naturally attached 
to him as to build air castles ! I am now of the opinion, 
and have been for a long time, that he did do this very 
thing, and I am also of the belief that he would not have 
accomplished much in life if he had not done so. 


Who, that has accomplished great thing for himself 


and others, has not had his vision hours? Not one. But 
because the real attainment falls short of the high and 
beautiful ideal shall we stilie aspiration and effort by re- 
proachfully repeating the silly epithet of some thought- 
less person — "Air castles ! 

What master artist ever succeeded -in placing the 
image in his soul on canvass ? What sculptor ever 
chisled out of the cold, dead marble the beautiful, 
living angel he knew was imprisoned there ? What poetic 
genius ever expressed with words the sentiments and 
aspirations that came welling up from his heart de- 
manding utterance ? W^hat prima donna ever gave full 
expression to the music that was thrilling through every 
fiber of her being ! Or what man of God, be he seer, 
prophet, apostle or evangelist, ever succeeded in deliver- 
ing the complete message of inspiration and salvation ? 
Did these all fail because they did not fully realize their 
ideals ? Did they do wrong by entertaining these exalted 
images of beautiful and desirable things, and by not 
being satisfied with others less worthy because less 
perfect ? Certainly they did not. 

Blessed is that young nKin whose repeated vision is 
that of Christian integrity and usefulness. 




Oh, the broken threads of this human life 
Rent in twain by sorrow, by sin and strife, 
How the tangled threads mar the fabric fair 
Which I fain would weave with the greatest care, 

Here a thread of hope I began to weave 
Through the web of life, but He bade me leave 
That sweet hope, and so, through a mist of tears, 
I wove into life all these doubts and fears. 

There I tried to weave in a thread of love 
Which had caught a gleam from the throne above, 
And at His command where I broke that thread 
From my aching heart ran these lines of red. 

Then, again, I tried in the days of old 
To weave through my life a bright band of gold, 
But the shining threads, at my Lord's command 
I broke, and instead wove this somber band. 

Here, I tried to weave into life's long hours 
A garland of rare and most fragrant flow'rs, 
And again my faith was by sorrow tried 
For the lovely threads were to me denied. 

Here the tangled threads woven into tears. 

Show a sad mistake in the bygone years; 

There I tried to weave in a silver thread 

But 'twas snapped in twain, and that hope lies dead. 

Oh, the broken threads which with many tears 
Have been rent in twain in the bygone years, 
Broken threads of hope, which with trembling hand 
I have laid aside at my Lord's command- 

Evening Prayer. 
From the Painting by Meyer Von Bremen. 


How I longed to weave them a fabric fair 
Showing dainty colors and pattern rare 
•But He guides the shuttle and so I weave. 
'Though the patterns dull makes my heart to grieve. 

Oh, perhaps sometime in a better land 
All the Father's love I will understand, 
And perchance I'll see with immortal eyes 
What will fill my heart with a glad surprise. 

So I weave in silence the threads of life. 
Broken threads of sorrow, of pain and strife, 
Though I long to make it a fabric fair 
Showing dainty colors, and patterns rare. 



Different View-Points. 

He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him there is 
no beauty that we should desire him. He is despised and rejected of 
men.— Is. 53: 2-3. 

My beloved is the chief est among ten thousand 

Yea, he is altogether lovely. — S. S. 5: 10, 16. 

There is a peculiar picture on the wall of my study. 
It is that of a monk — a horrid, repulsive old monk. His 
half-shaven head plainly reveals a low, brutish forehead. 
He has heavy, shaggy eye-brows, from beneath which 
two small, black, mouse-like eyes peer directly at you — 
into you — through you. His nose, which is not unlike 
the beak of a bird of prey, is suggestive of cunning and 
rapacity. His mouth, almost wide open, displays a 
double row of serrated, carnivorous-looking teeth. His 
face is absolutely void of any indications of intelligence 


or refinement. He has, in fact, every mark of a brute 
of the lowest order. 

When I saw this picture, a day or two ago, I was 
completely surprised, and my first thought \vas, how did 
such a hideous caricature of a human face get into my 
house and on the wall of my study ? 

With this question uppermost in my mind I arose 
from my eafey chair to investigate. I had been sitting 
so that I had a side view of the picture. Going closer 
to the old monk and looking squarely at him I found 
that he had completely disappeared, and that a beauti- 
ful little girl, with a smiling face, had taken his place. 


Much depends upon the point of view from which an 
objet or person is seen, and this is especially true of 
Christ. His enemies, the Jews, could see no beauty in 
him, and many to-day fail to see in him the one who is 
* 'altogether lovely." Do not permit, if it is possible 
any side view of Christ. It is sure to be distorted and 
unnatural. Stand squarely before him and you can not 
fail to see him as he is — **the King in his beauty." 



"All hail the power of Jesus name," 
Which rescued us from sin and shame. 

That name our fathers loved to hear 
Shall yet be heard by every ear. 

"Let angels prostrate fall," 

And heed his every wish and call. 
Who made you heirs of heaven's delight, 

And armed you with celestial might. 

"Bring forth the royal diadem," 

Ye princes of the house of Shem. 
He is your promised Lord and King, 

To him the royal vestments bring. 

"And crown him Lord of all," 

To reign o'er this terrestrial hall. 
For he whose death the vail did part, 

Would rear his throne in every heart. 



I gazed athwart the planted field, 

And saw therein a straggling crop 
That looked as if it were the yield 

Of seeds that merely chanced to drop. 
It seemed an acre overgrown 

With sprouting grain that upward thrust 
Where'er it could, 'twixt sod and stone, 

And grew because, forsooth, it must. 
I, musing, thought: "The husbandman 

Is careless of his striving grain. 
The seed he scattered without plan; 

The sheaves he'll cut to load his wain " 


And then I wandered on, heartsore, 

And filled with bitterness for all 
Humanity, chance-scattered o'er 

The rough-plowed world from wall to wall, 
Until, 'mid tears, I looked again 

Upon the planted field, and lo ! 
There stood the crop of goldening grain 

In stateliest order, row on row. 
No careless hand those seeds had sown, 

The husbandman had furrowed fair. 
I^ooking a f/iwart, I had not known 

Both love and law abided there. 


:o. ■ 

Egotistica Ego. 

For the body is not one member, but many. If the foot shall say, 
Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body; is it not therefore of 
the body ? And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not 
of the body; is it therefore not of the body ? If the whole body were an 
eye, where were the hearing ? If the whole were hearing, where were the 
smelling ? But now hath God set the members every one of them in the 
body, as it hath pleased him. And if they were all one member, where 
were the body ? But now are they many members, yet but one body. 
And the eye can not say to the hand, I have not need of thee; nor again 
the head to the feet, I have no need of you. Nay, miich more those 
members of the body, which seem to be more feble, are necessary; and 
those members of the body, which we think to be less honorable, upon 
these we bestow more abundant honor;, and our uncomely parts have 
more abundant comeliness. For ouir comely parts have no need; but 
God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant 
honor to that part which lacked ; that there should be no schism in the 
body; but that the members should have the same care for one another. 
And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one 
member be honored, all the m.embers rejoice with it. Now ye are the 
body of Christ, and members in particular— i Cor. 12: 14-27. 

One day a healthy, robust man, whose body had 


never before given him any trouble whatever, found 
himself in a most perplexing dilemma. Many of the 
'members and organs of his body had suddenly ceased to 
perform their various functions. There was no pain, or 
at least none that he could not easily endure, but he was 
in great distress of mind besause of the strange and un- 
accountable conduct of the various parts of his body that 
had always been so regular and faithful in the per- 
formance of their several duties. He was not only blind, 
deaf, dumb and lame, but almost his entire body seemed 
to be affected by a peculiar paralysis. Seeking for the 
cause of this distressing condition that had so suddenly 
come upon him, he found it to be a clear case of Ego- 
tistica Ego. The normal function of nearly every 
member and organ of the body seemed to have been 
entirely suspended, and instead there had been given 
them the power or gift of speech. 

The eyes were saying to the feet, "We are very 
delicate organs, and have been overworked on you 
account. Whether in the strong light of the noon-day 
sun, or the evening twilight, or the murky darkness we 
have been expected to look constantly for a secure 
resting place for you, and if at any time we have failed 
in the least have been severely censured. W^e are very 
highly organized and exceedingly sensitive, as you well 
know, and we have grown utterly tired of your lack of 
appreciation and faultfinding, and have determined to 
close the door in your faces and allow you to go where 
you please. You need not expect any more favors from 

To this the ears responded that the eyes were no 


more delicate than they were, and that if the eyes had 
concluded to go inside their castle and close the doors, 
they too would shut and barricade themselves behind 
sound-proof walls. They said, * 'We have been forever 
listening for signals of danger that could not be known 
till too late if they had to be seen, and we too are per- 
fectly sick with disgust. We have never been apprecia- 
ted as we should have been. A hundred shrill whistles 
have repeatedly screeched at us as though we enjoyed 
such melodiuos music; innumerable bells have been rung 
and gongs beaten close beside us that were perfectly 
horrid, and besides we have had to endure the unearthly 
din of shouting 'bus drivers, hotel porters, news boys, 
train men, et. al., ad infinitum, and all to keep the rest 
of you out of serious trouble. We can not and positively 
will not stand such treatment any longer. The feet may 
walk into danger if they like, and take the eyes with them 
too for aught we care." 

"Indirectly, at least," said the tongue, "you are all 
accusing me of being negligent," though probably no 
such thought had ever entered their minds. "You are 
insinuating that I have failed to advice the feet to walk 
circumspectly, when in reality to my certain knowledge 
I have never failed for a single moment to meet the 
responsibility that rests upon me. I will not utter 
another word of warning or advise. I shall no longer be 
chief counsellor to eyes, and ears and feet to receive as 
my only renumeration ingratitude and innuendo. Hence- 
forth I shall maintain the silence of the sphinx." 

The feet had kept plodding along as usual, but 
becoming thoroughly indignant at what they considered 


unprovoked and libelous attacks upon them, they re- 
fused to take another step till due apology had been 
made. They affirmed that to please the eyes they had 
been thrust, against their protest, into shoes two sizes 
too small and tortured almost beyond endurance; and 
that often when hurrying away from places of supposed 
danger, when the ears had hearkened to a false alarm, 
they had come in contact with numerous obstacles with 
such violence as to cause great pain and even permanent 
injury. The feet knowing that they had to be depended 
upon for locomotion by all who were finding fault with 
them, said, — displaying unexpectedly not a little sar- 
castic wit, for they had been looked upon as obtuse and 
stupid — "We will carry you no further. Go where you 

Many other parts of the body manifested similar 
symptoms. There could be no mistake. It was a well- 
defined case of Egotistica Ego. A very contagious, and 
sometimes tedious, but not necessarily fatal disease. 


Occasionally churches — congregations — have the same 
ailment. It may be easily and unmistakably diagnosed 
by its peculiar symptoms, which are wholly unlike those 
of any other disorder. There is an undue amount of 
loquacity on the part of the members, and a decided 
predisposition to gossip, the burden of which is censorious- 
ness, carping, caviling, and hyper-criticism of others. 
The following prescription is an absolute specific if taken 
in large and frequent doses: 

"A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love 
one another; as I have loved you." 



If I should die to-night, 
My friends would look upon my quiet face 
Before they laid it in its resting-place, 
And deem that death had left it almost fair; 
And laying 5:now-white flowers against my hair. 
Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness. 
And fold my hands with lingering caress, — 
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night ! 

If I should die to-riight. 
My friends would call to mind, with loving thought, 
Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought; 
Some gentle words the frozen lips had said; 
Errands on which the willing feet had sped; 
The memory of my selfishness and pride. 
My hasty words, would all be put aside, 
And I should be loved and mourned to-night 

If I should die to-night. 
E'en hearts estranged would turn once more to me 
Recalling other days remorsefully; 
The eyes that chill me with averted glance 
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, 
And soften in the old familiar way,^ — 
For who could war with dull unconscious clay? 
So rest forgiven of all to-night. 

O friends, I pray to-night, 
Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow, 
The way is lonely, let me feel them now. 
Think gently of me, — I am travel-worn: 
My faltering feet are pierced by many a thorn. 
Forgive, O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead ! 
When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need 
The tenderness for which I long to-night. 


Mountains and Foothills. 

Believers were the more added to the Lord, multitudes both of men 
and women, Acts 5; 14, 

Looking toward the mountains from the valley the 
snow-crowned peaks in the distance are the first objects 
the eye rests upon. Year after year they have been 
sending down perennial streams of water from their 
perpetual snows for the thirsty soil in the low lands, 
thereby making it possible by irrigation to raise large 
crops of grain, fruit and vegetables. The lower moun- 
tains and foothills which intervene or lie beyond are not 
seen and almost or altogether forgotten. They are too 
insignificant to attract attention or receive any consid- 
eration or appreciation, and yet they are necessary to 
buttress and support the towering peaks that are so much 
praised and admired. 

These peaks are usually given ephonious names and 
every school boy and girl is made familiar with them. 
They are located on the maps of states and countries 
and often there is a "comparative scale" indicating to 
the eye of the student their relative height. 

Thus a person might easily be led to think that a 
high mountain peak is not of relative but absolute im- 
portance. That it is in no way dependent but omnipo- 
tently independent. That the hills and mountains that rise 
tier upon tier, higher and higher, almost to the summit 
of the highest mountain occupy such positions as they 
do simply by toleration, and that they are in no sense 
essential to the existence or usefulness of the over- 
shadowing peak. 


These conspicuous peaks are praised for their beauty, 
prominence, grandure and usefulness. How gloriously 
attractive ! The interdependence of valley, hill, mount- 
ain and peak is not recognized as it should be by many 
students of geography and admirers of nature. 


The membership of the church is not a level plain. 
It is made up of a series of undulations. There are 
interdependent hills and valleys; mountains and mountain 
peaks. There are prominent men in the church not 
simply on account of their inherent worth, but because 
others have recognized and helped them to become great. 
Not all can or should be high mountain peaks. 

When we think of the early church our minds almost 
mvariably rest upon a few of the prominent men — Peter, 
Paul, Philip, James, John, and a few others — the 
mountain peaks — while "believers" who were "added to 
the Lord, both men and women" — the numberless lower 
mountains and foot-hills are forgotten. 




If you have written a line to encourage 

Some workman that toils the day long 
Or have cheered up some heart by your singing 

Tho' ever so humble the song. 
If you've led to the foot of the alter 

One weary, and lone, and distressed 
And awoke on the lips of that kneeler 

The song that is "sweetest and best." 

If you've given a drink to the thirsty 

Or taken the wanderer in 
Tho' an outcast despised and rejected 

From by-ways prolific of sin. 
If you've beckoned the pilgrim a weary 

To rest 'neath the shade of your vine 
That has clambered in luxur'ant beauty 

Adorning that vineyard of thine. 

If you've given a flow'r to be cherished 

By one who is lonely and sad 
Or spoken one word that has rendered 

The joyless and suffering glad. 
If you've lightened humanity's burden 

And softened the pillow of pain 
With a spirit akin to to the Master's 

Your "labor has not been in vain." 





O mighty peaks, that lift your heads 

Far into heavens ethereal dome so blue, 
We look and wonder; mighty indeed the hand, 

Omnipotent the power, thus to fashion you. 
Why lift so high your hoary, snow crowned heads, 

Canst tell us aught of God; or what awaits; 
Canst point up to a nobler life than this, 

As day by day the stream of life abates ? 

The mystery of past thou couldst unfold, 

If thou thy Sphynx like silence would but break; 
Of prehistoric man and mammoth dread. 

Whose footsteps caused thy rock ribbed sides to quake. 
O tell us, thou grim sentinels of time. 

What sage advice to give to men hast thou; 
For what grand purpose art thou lifted up; 

Why thus in awe before thee do men bow? 

'Because they are the messengers of God." 

Sigh whispering winds, as on their way they go, 
"True witnesses of our Creator's power, 

The providence of Almighty God they show. 
Hidden within their treasure chests they hold 

More than the wealth of nations; kept for man, 
When he shall give to God his undivided heart. 

And love as well as self his fellow man. 





Impossible Possibilities. 

And David said to Solomon, My son, as for me, it was in my mind 
to build a house unto the name of the Lord my God; but the word of the 
Lcrd came to me saying. Thou hast shed blood abundantly and thou hast 
made great wars; thou shalt not build a house unto my name, because 
thou hast shed much blood upon the earth in my sight.— i Chron. 22:7,8. 

A man has met with a serious accident which must 
prove fatal in a very short time unless reUef is given 
soon. An important artery has been severed, and the 
Hfe-blood is fast ebbing away. There is a blacksmith 
near but he knows nothing about stanching the flow of 
blood. His previous training has been against him 
rendering the necessary assistance. The man dies. The 
blacksmith is very sorry. 

Another man has been accused of having committed 
a crime. He has been arraigned and his trial is in 
progress. He is quite poor and unable to employ 
counsel, so he is making his own defence. You are not 
connected with the case in any way, but you see that the 
prosecuting attorney is making a strong case against a 
comparatively innocent person. If you were a Webster 
or a Choate or any well-informed lawyer, how gladly 
you would defend the man. But you are only a farmer. 
Your occupation and training render it impossible for 
you to give him the help he needs. The man is found 
guilty and is sentenced accordingly. Your regret is 

A man is elected to a seat in congress. A bill is 
introduced that he believes ought to be defeated, but he 
is not qualified to oppose it, so it becomes a law. The 
man feels chagrined on account of his inability to do 


what he reahzed ought to have been done, and what he 
knows he could have done, if his opportunities in earher 
Hfe had not been neglected and abused. He thinks of 
what the result might have been when Hayne's bill of 
''States Rights" was before congress if there had been 
no Webster; of the "Right of Petition," if the redoubt- 
able Adams had not occupied a seat in congress; and of 
what might have happened to American independence if 
there had been no Benjamin Franklin to present the 
cause of the colonists at the court of France. He is 
humiliated and deeply mortified as he silently but clearly 
draws the contrast between himself and these great, 
self-made men and reflects upon his irretrievable failure 
on account of wasted opportunities. 

A poor child has been left alone in the world. It is 
famishing for kindness and sympathy. You see that 
these are what it needs to cherish it more than it re- 
quires food for its body, but your whole life has been 
lived on a low plane. You have cared only for fashion- 
able society with its constant round of worldly pleasures. 
How can you administer comfort to the orphan whose 
soul is starving and perishing for kindly recognition ? 
Good desires throttled by the manner in which you have 
lived. How sad. 

A young man is just turning aside from the way of 
safety. He has committed no great sin against himself 
or others, but he is "pitching his tent toward Sodom." 
Now is the time to go to him and with fraternal and 
unassumed interest in his wellfare save him by showing 
him the threatening, yea, the imminent dangler and 
impending judgement that will speedily come upon him. 


unless he turns. Make him see, if possible, at the be- 
ginning of a dov/nward career that ' 'the way of the 
transgressor is hard," and that "lust when it conceiveth 
brnigeth forth sin, and sin when it is finished bringeth 
forth death." But how can this be done, for those who 
recognize most clearly that the young man is inclined to 
go in the way of unrighteousness are themselves living 
impure lives. They are like Mirabeau, who, when a 
crisis was rapidly approaching, exclaimed, *'Oh, that I 
had been a correct man, for I could now save France !" 
The young man is lost, because his friends by their man- 
ner of life could not render in due time the necessary 
assistance. They bitterly regret it all, but it. is too late. 


People do not understand as they should that the 
accomplishment of worthy purposes may be prohibited 
by the past life. This is a valuable lesson for young 
men and young women to learn. David was a king with 
unlimited power, but he was not king of circumstances 
and opportunities. He had conquered many nations, 
but with all his resources he could not build a house ! 
The fact is, a destructive course of life is opposed to a 
constructive course of life. David had been a man of war. 
He had "shed blood abundantly." He had lived de- 
structively, and had so trained himself that God posi- 
tively forbade him attempting to carry out his purpose to 
"build a house unto his name." Men seldom realize, 
till it is too late, that if they would accomplish certain 
great things in life they must make due preparation and 
in ample time. The cause of failure is not the lack of 


opportunities, but of sufficient perception and preparation 
to see and improve them. 

"There is a tide in the affairs of men 
Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune, 
Omitted, all the voyages of their life 
Is bound in shallows and miseries." 

That tide is youthful integrity, purity and industry. 
The pinnacle of success is not the apex of a pyramid. 
The walls are perpendicular. Opportunity is the two 
sides and the rungs of a ladder. It makes it possible for 
you to ascend, but it will not lift you up. You must 
climb. If you can not climb, then the ladder is useless 
to you. Be prepared to go up when the ladder of op- 
portunity is placed against the otherwise insurmountable 
walls. Live so the accomplisment of worthy purposes 
will be easy for you, whenever the time for action shall 

From the Painting by A. Fabens. 



To-night I sit beside the road of time 

And look each way, ahead and toward the past — 
Swift years ! I can not match my pace with thine — 

A laggard I, and, oh, ye go so fast ! 
Another year has just gone flashing by 

Like some fleet train upon a noisless track. 
A pause, a trifling stir, a warning cry — 

And, lo ! 'tis gone, beyond all calling back. 

I watch it vanish in the vista far. 

And think of all the good things, fair and new, 
With which I thought to freight each shining car, 

When first its glowing headlight beamed in view. 
Alas, for hands not deft, and feet too slow ! 

I dallied oft with ease or doubting mind — 
Aye, wandered from the road, brief while, and lo ! 

The year hath past — my goods all left behind. 

I see them scattered all along the way, 

And even now they goodly seem and fair; 
Oh, had my spirit sought from heaven a stay. 

And wrought each purposed good with zealous care, 
And freighted with its yield the passing year, 

Who knoweth where, like seed, it might have gone 
To germinate, and some day re-appear 

In grain for future years to carry on. 

I almost reach with eager hands to stay 

The fluttering year 'til I, within its span, 
May quickly trust some finished good, but nay, 

I can but gather up each half-wrought plan. 
Resolved to consecrate my heart anew. 

And seek for tireless zeal through trustful prayer 
That when the dawning year shall glide from view, 

Some fruitage of my labor it may bear. 



Wisdom too Dearly Bought. 

*'Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers." — 2 Cor. 6: 14. 

There was once a gallant young eagle that courted a 
modest turtle-dove. The eagle lived in a distant part of 
the country so that the dove never saw^ him except when 
he visited her which he did regularly and only at times 
mutually agreed upon. He was invariably courteous and 
usually quite affable in his manner, noble and dignified 
in his bearing, and never transgressed the rules and 
usages of the best society when in the company of Miss 
Dove. She had frequently heard, however, and that 
too from trustworthy and reliable sources, that in addition 
to being chivalrous and polite when in society there was 
an opposite side to his nature. It was said, by those 
who were in a position to know, that he was naturally 
tyrannical and brutal, and had not the faintest con- 
ception of mercy and gentleness, and that he had some 
very bad habits. But she took no pains to investigate 
these grave charges, and in fact refused to believe them. 
She had never seen anything amiss in him and she did 
not think it possible for him to be guilty or even capable 
of gross wrong. True it had not been long since she 
had formed his aquaintance, and that too under most 
favorable circumstances for him, and she had not seen 
him since except when he was out on "dress parade," 
but she was "of the opinion their tastes if not their very 
natures were quite the same." So she not only refused 
to hear any thing against him but artfully encouraged 
the continuation of his attentions until one day he pro- 
posed to her. She was not at all embarrassed by this 


for it was really just what she had been hoping and 
expecting for some time he would do, but she concealed, 
as best she could, the true condition of her mind, and 
appeared to be taken completely by surprise. Of course 
she ''must have time to consider, for such an important 
matter coming so unexpectedly must be carefully 

After due reflection she ''cooed" an affectionate ac- 
ceptance of his proposal, and named the happy day, not 
very far distant, when the nuptials would be celebrated. 
During this brief interval she lived, or would have lived, 
in paradisaical bliss, if it had not been for the annoying 
recollection of what she had repeatedly heard of a 
damaging character concerning the reputation of her 
affianced, though she said reassuringly to herself again 
and again that she did not believe the reports that were 
being circulated, so difficult is it to accept as true what 
we do not desire to believe. 

On the day appointed the wedding took place, and 
for a short time thereafter "all went merry as a marriage 
bell." But soon the eagle began to assert his authority 
over his young bride, and that too in a most emphatic 
manner. Things rapidly went from bad to worse. He 
became more and more brutal and despotic until he made 
the life of the fair young dove absolutely miserable. Not 
a day passed that she did not wish to be out of the world. 
Death, with an uncertain future thereafter, would have 
been to her a most precious boon — one that she would 
have gladly welcomed. Poor thing ! When it was too 
late the modest dove realized that she had foolishly be- 
come the helpless slave of a brutal tyrant whom she was 


compelled to speak of and address as "my dear hus- 


"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbe- 

lievers. " 



— o — 

The sad, tired world with all its busy cares, 
Its voiceless sorrows, and its throbbing pain, 

Has such sore need of human sympathy 
To lessen with its kindly touch, -the strain 
Of daily living. 

For sympathy alone can thrill the heart 

When hope seems dead, and life a dreary waste; 

Showing the weary soul a place of rest 
Where love rules all and giving it a taste 
Of heavenly pity 


Two Peach Trees, 

Give me neither poverty nor riches. — Prov 30: 8. 

Two peach trees grew on adjoining lots. Both of 
them were planted at the same time, but they received 
very different treatment. One was fertilized, irrigated 
and cultivated \vith great care, but was never pruned, 
and of course grew luxuriantly. The other tree received 
no attention whatever and consequently made very slow 
growth. A rather singular coincidence was that both 
trees bore a crop of fruit for the first time the same 

Lost Happiness. 
From the Painting by Otto Lingner. 


season. The tree that had received such careful 
attention was burdened with a great load of fruit, but 
just before it matured there came a strong gust of wind 
and the branches were completely severed from the body 
of the tree, the fruit all lost, and the tree badly damaged 
— crushed and ruined by too great riches. 

The other tree produced a score or two of scrawny, 
bitter peaches that were absolutely unfit for any use 
whatever. Because of its pinching poverty, it too had 
failed in fruit bearing. 


Beyond any doubt one of the prayers that should be 
universally made is for * 'neither poverty nor riches." 
Men are like peach trees. A failure to bring to maturity 
the fruits of righteousness is often caused by too much 
prosperity, while on the other hand abject poverty 
frequently, yes, almost invariably, prevents the harvest 
of godliness. 


— o — 

God, in his goodness and mercy, 

Opens the gates of light, 
Sends the long, quivering moonbeams 

Into the silent night. 
Type of His love never ending. 

Light shining bright and clear. 
Let Thy light shine to my soul depths, 

Chase out each doubt and fear. 


God, in His goodness and mercy, 
Curtains the skies with night, 
Fold upon fold of darkness 

Shutting away the light. 
Type of His love, like a mantle 
Folding us close to His side, 
^ Shutting out all save His presence — 

Thus would we ever abide. 

Nelia McGavack. 


Perseverance Rewarded. 

••Let us not be weary in well-doing; for in due season we shall reap, 
if we faint not." — Gal. 9: 6. 

Strolling leisurely along the wharf one day at New- 
port, Cal. , I observed a small boy fishing. Approaching 
him I asked, **Are you having good luck !" 

''No," said he, '*I haven't caught any yet." 

**How long," I inquired, "have you been fishing?" 

,,Oh," he replied, "I have been here nearly all day, 
and I fished yesterday and the day before but didn't 
catch any fish." 

"Well," said I, laying special stress on the personal 
pronouns, "I would get discouraged and quit. Why do 
you keep at it so long, when you are having no success.^*" 

''Well, sir," he answered, "you see I was down here 
last year about this time and fished several days without 
having any luck, but one day a shoal of fish came in and 
I caught lots of them in a few minutes, and I'm expect- 
ing them to come in again just any time. They always 
do about this season of the year." 

"But why don't yo wait," I ventured to inquire, 
"till they come and then do your fishing .?" 


"Oh, I want to be here," he answered, **and have 
my hook in the water ready for them when they come." 

I said no more, but went away leaving the boy sitting 
on the edge of the wharf waiting for the fish to come 
that he expected to catch ! 

I am not psychologist enough to satisfy myself 
whether the boy was governed by faith, credulity or 
superstition, but two or three days after my interview 
with him I happened to read in one of the daily papers 
that a great shoal of fish had put in an appearance at 
Newport, and that the people were having fine sport 
catching them — and no doubt this boy was there with 
his baited hook in the water patiently and expectantly 
waiting when they came. 


There are many "fishers of men" who could learn a 
useful lesson from this boy. There are those in every 
congregation who lack patience and persistence. They 
want the exhileration of success as fishermen — which all 
know gives a wonderful zest and impetus to effort — but 
are sadly deficient in faithfulness and perseverance, and 
consequently their success, to the extent that these are 
wanting, is limited. 

"Be not weary in well-doing," is as applicable when 
fishing for men as it is when performing any other 
Christian duty. 




To toil is still the common royalty 
Of blood and brain and brawn — to be ! 
The princes of the race are these 
Who bear the nation's destinies ! 

Then toil ! Touch elbows with the throng — 

Serve and service shall be song ! 

Work and the world shall be 

The better, though you cannot see ! 

Bear bravely and the cares that press, 
While still increasing, shall seem less ! 
Take up another's lagging load and find 
Thine less — and all the world more kind ! 

Dare to dream high amid thy daily cares, 
And angels shall come unawares ! 
Bear in thy soul the torch of light — 
Do — and in doing find delight ! 

Find strength in Christ's own simple creed — 

Be kingly in thy duty and thy deed ! 

Not sternly but serenely face 

The f uture^each man in his place ! " 

Be bold to bless — and braver to withhold — 
The self-denying are the knightly bold ! 
Serve others, not thyself, and trust 
The things that may — take that which must ! 



From the Painting by Gustave Dore. 


The Mantle of Charity, 

The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. — Matt. 26: 41. 

Two men lived neighbor to each other, though they 
were not always neighborly. In fact one man enter- 
tained an antipathy towards the other amounting at 
times to actual animosity. There had been a slight 
missunderstanding between them over some trivial 
matter, and the refusal of one man to "forgive and for- 
get," when asked by the other to do so, had resulted in 
almost every subsequent act being misconstrued and 
magnified by the unforgiving man into evidence against 
his neighbor of unfriendliness and premeditated attempts 
to in some way injure him. Thus the ill feeling was not 
only maintained but increased. How one's passions 
thrive upon themselves ! 

It is true that the man who was unfortunate enough 
to have the enmity of his neighbor, was at times some- 
what eccentric, though it was unanimously agreed that 
his peculiarities were harmless. All who knew him be- 
lieved that he would not willfully or intentionally injure 
in the least any person by word or deed. People among 
whom he lived knew but little of his ancestry, and he 
seemed to manifest a desire to keep his family history to 

One day, late in the autumn, he was suddenly taken 
very ill and soon died. A large concourse of his friends 
and aquaintances attended the funeral, for notwithstand- 
ing his eccentricities they all had a very high regard for 
him as an honest man, a good neighbor, a true friend in 
time of trouble, and one whose moral character was 


above reproach. Even his unforgiving neighbor was 

An old minister had been summoned from a distant 
part of the country to conduct the funeral service, and 
in his obituary, preceding the sermon, he said, **It was 
my good fortune to know the deceased and the family of 
the deceased for many years. He was a good man, and 
came of an intelligent, and noble, though rather eccentric 
family, the geneological history of which, as you all 
doubtless know, containing the account of some grave 
misfortunes superinduced it is believed by a hereditary 
predisposition towards insanity. His grand-father, who 
was an unusually brilliant man, under stress of very sad 
circumstances, lost his reason for a short time and had 
to be confined in an asylum, and another near relative 
cammited suicide while temporarily deranged. The 
harmless eccentricities of the deceased can be easily and 
naturally accounted for when this fact is taken into 
consideration. " 

All had been explained by the incidental remarks of 
the old preacher. 

That afternoon they laid his body in the neighbor- 
hood burying-ground. It was a cold, cloudy, cheerless 
day. Night seemed to come prematurely, as it frequently 
does in late autumn and midwinter. It was a dark, 
murky night too, but not darker without than it was 
within the heart of the man who had stubbornly cherished 
ill feeling and animosity towards his eccentric neighbor. 

Before morning dawned the clouds had deposited on 
the cold, bare earth a covering of beautiful snow. Softly, 
during the night, the feathery flakes had descended like 


the dew on Hermon. Hill and valley had "shared and 
shared alike," even the new-made mound in the ceme- 
tery had been wrapped in an ermine robe — some good 
people said it was a * 'mantle of charity," such as the 
Savior cast about his disciples when he came and found 
them sleeping and said to them, after they had been 
negligently guilty, "The spirit indeed is willing, but the 
flesh is weak." Not a word of censure or reproach, but 
matchless tenderness and complete forgiveness ! 


What a beautiful robe of spotless white is the "mantle 
of charity" ! It is never out of fashion, and is intended 
for the forgiving to clothe the forgiven with, as our 
Master has shown us by his example. Place it upon the 
living — now — rather than upon the graves of the de- 



We cannot tell what woe 

May mask behind a face, 
I think we rarely know 

The spirit's inner grace; 
The strongest souls restrain 

The fears which make them weak, 
In silence bear their pain, 

Their longing seldom speak. 
There is the grief which weeps, 

Nor seeks to mourn apart, 
And there is that which keeps 

Its secret in the heart. 


Some poets never write, 

Some artists never paint; 
Some heroes never fight 

On fields of fame; the saint, 
Uncanonized, unsung, 

Dies in a prison sell. 
And hearts by anguish wrung 

Beat on — ,and all seems well. 
They carve not, yet have wrought 

Their dreams who nobly dare; 
They preach not, yet their thought 

Is a perpetual prayer; 
They speak not, but the speech 

Of deeds is understood; 
They write not, but they teach 

By simply doing good. 



Life-Giving Fountains. 

"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters." — Is. 55: i. 
"Jesus stood and cried saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto 
me and drink." — J no. 7: 37. 

Some twenty-five or thirty years ago a young man, 
while traveling in what was at that time the Territory of 
Nebraska, was lost. His supply of food and water gave 
out and, almost overcome by thirst, hunger and heat, he 
dismounted from his jaded pony and lay down in the 
dry bed of a small ravine, where there was a little shade, 
to rest and refresh himself, if rest could come to one in 
his condition. 

As he lay there half famished it seemed to him 
that he had fallen asleep and dreamed he heard the 
sound of running water. What sweet music, and yet it 


must be only a dream ! He arose and looked, but could 
neither see any water nor hear any longer the familiar 
sound that had been so enchatingly delightful to him. 
He had been dreaming. So, with a deeper feeling of 
sadness in his heart, he lay down again, but a second 
time the sonnd of falling water greeted his ears. Was 
it the delirium of approaching death that was vexing 
and mocking him, or was he still in his right mind .-* 
Or was the welcome noise he heard only the result of 
desire and imagination ? But if he only imagined he 
heard the babble and splash of living water, why did he 
not hear it except when lying down ? If his hearing 
was deceptive, why did it deceive him only when he 
was prostrate on the ground ? Certainly he could not 
be deceived. There must be water near, if he could not 
see any indication of it. So he decided to search for it. 

Going some distance down the ravine he heard the 
faint murmur of falling water, and as he proceeded in 
the direction from whence the sound came it grew more 
and more distinct, till presently he stood before a leap- 
ing, bounding little cataract of pure water that came 
bubbling forth from a spring in the hillside, glided down 
into the ravine and was almost immediately lost in the 
thirsty sand. 

Kneeling down, with tears like rain falling into the 
sparkling streamlet, and without touching his parched 
Hps to the life-giving water, he thanked God for having 
provided this means of quenching his thirst and perhaps 
saving his life. Then with inexpressible gratitude in 
his heart he drank of that beverage which God himself 
had brewed in the secret chambers of the hills. And 


how delighted he would have been to say to other trav- 
elers, famishing and dying for water, *'Ho, every one 
that thirsteth, Come !" 


Who can account for the selfish indifference so many 
professing Christians manifest ? They claim to have 
found the life-giving fountain that has quenched their 
thirst, but they permit others to pass within hailing 
distance and never utter a word whereby they may know 
that help is at hand. Can it be that water for the thirsty 
body is of more importance than water — the Water of 
Life — for the famishing soul ! Let there go up a great 
shout, "Ho, every one that thirsteth. Come." **If any 
man thirst, let him come." 


— o — 

I know not 'neath what skies he dwells, 

He who is yet my friend to be, 
I know not in what lands we'll meet, 

What seas he'll cross to come to me. 
Whether the face be young and fair, 

Or furrowed brow 'neath silver hair. 
But mine to hold the glad years through, 

While steady burns this kindled flame; 
I'll love him with a love so true. 

With all things holy link his name, 
This friend to be. 


How oft' I may have passed him by. 

Unnoticed in the crowded mart; 
This friend who yet will till the need, 

The hungry cravings of my heart. 
Drifting upon this human tide, 

What word will bring him to my side ? 
Patient! wait until God wills — 

The clasping of this friendly hand, 
Whose touch will all my being- thrill — 

And I at once shall understand 
This friend to be. 

Or will it be a friendship born — 

Which day by day shall closer twine, 
Through sorrows shared, through suffering borne, 

Until his soul is knit to mine ? 
Distance can not such friendship sever, 

Nor abs:ince mar or change it ever; 
But mine to hold the glad years through. 

While steady burns this kindled flame; 
IM love him with a love so true. 

With all things holy link his name. 
This friend to be. 



Reverie and Revelation. 

The entrance of the words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto 
the simple. — P's. 119: 130. " 

Not far from the margin of a miniature lake, nestling 
snugly at the base of some great, rugged peaks towering 
hundreds of feet above it, we pitched ou^ tent and pre- 
pared to encamp for the night. The air was as pure as 
it was in the Garden of Eden, and the lake as placid as 
if it had heard and obeyed the Voice that commanded 
"peace." There was not a breeze to stir the surface of 


the crystal pool. It slept peacefully with the sentinel 
pines keeping perpetual watch over it, without being 
troubled in the least by the perplexing problems of the 
great, busy world of humanity, with the lights and 
shadows of faith and doubt, hope and despair, joy and 
sorrow falling upon it as it surges onward ever nearer 
and nearer to the untried and unknown future — beyond 
the vail. In blissful ignorance of all human perplexities 
and anxieties it slept a sweetly dreamless sleep. Slept 
and smiled. 

Mirrored in the peaceful lake were the variegated 
rocks and the many-tinted green trees upon its border 
and the majestic mountain peaks above and beyond. 
The panoramic scene was to me more beautiful than any 
that a master artist could place upon canvas. It was 
one of nature's master pieces. I stood, and with grow- 
ing wonder and admiration, gazed upon the matchless 
picture with its frame of rocks, and trees and shrubs, the 
organic and the inorganic, life and death, contrasting 
harmoniously and blending perfectly — placed there by 
the Great Artist himself to receive the picture after he 
had designed it— so strikingly original and peculiarly 
appropriate that one word expressed it all — "faultless." 

Urged on by an indescribable fascination, I walked 
down to the margin of this enchanted lake, and as I 
drew near I saw, looking up from the water at the point 
nearest me, and advancing as I approached, the figure of 
a man, and as I came nearer still I observed that this 
image or outline of a man not only came toward me as I 
advanced but that it imitated, with wonderful exactness, 
every movement however slight that I made, and I also 


noticed that the dress and personal appearance of this 
Neiad were strikingly like my own. If I walked towards 
the right along the margin of the lake, this nymph-like 
apparition went in the same direction at my feet. If I 
hesitated or turned back, this image — my exact counter- 
part — hesitated or turned back. Every movement that 
I made, this Nemesis or ghost of myself — if such it was 
— seemed to fully anticipate, and, in perfect harmony 
with my own actions, mimicked. Reflecting upon this 
and upon some of the great problems of human life, I 
thought that certainly a person or being that was in such 
perfect accord with me as this one seemed to be must 
have more than a passing interest in what interests me, 
for if I turned to admire the beautiful scenery this image 
appeared to manifest a like interest, and if I stopped to 
look at something at my feet, this fairy would come as 
close as I did to the object that had attracted my at- 
tention, and gaze at it as earnestly and as long. If 
thoughts of sadness came into m}^ mind, a change of 
expression at once came over the contenance of this sea- 
nymph, unmistakbly indicating that my thoughts were 
known. Yes, thought I, this strange entity, by whatever 
name it may be called, must have an abiding interest in 
me, and can no doubt enlighten my mind concerning 
that which has for a long time been a source of great 
perplexity to me. So in subdued tones and in a confi- 
dential manner, I unbosomed myself to this newly- 
discovered oracle, but its lips only moved as mine 
moved, and I heard not a single word that was uttered, 
though I bent my ear to catch the faintest whisper. 
Long and anxiously I questoned this oracular spectre 


concerning the problems of human Hfe and destiny, and, 
from the movement of its Hps, I understood at last that 
I was being asked exactly the same questions that had 
perplexed me and at identically the same time that I was 
asking them. 

With a heavy heart, and out of great disappointment, 
I cried aloud, and there came a voice from somewhere 
in response to my own, though, in my surprise, I did not 
undersand what was said, or the direction from whence 
the sound came. Then I said in a loud voice, ''From 
whence came life ?'' for this was one of the questions 
that had puzzled me, and in a moment I heard the 
words in a voice somewhat fainter than my own, though 
strikingly like it, I imagined, in every other respect, 
"From whence came life .?" Thinking I could detect the 
rising inflection, and judging that my questioner who- 
ever he was, had not understood me and wished me to 
repeat what I had said, I replied, "Yes, from whence 
came life .?" Immediately I heard the words repeated 
again," Yes, from whence came life .?" I thought per- 
haps my querist might be repeating my question to some 
wise old hermit who resided in the fastnesses of the 
mountains beyond the reach of my voice, and that in due 
time I would receive from him the answer to my question, 
so I waited patiently, but no answer came. 

Then I asked, ' 'What is man .?" and as first my 
inquiry was wafted back, "What is man .?" and this was 
the only answer I received to my thrice-repeated question. 
Failing in this, I next ventured to inquire, "If a man 
die, shall he live again .?" and almost instantly I heard 
the words, "Shall he live again r So I repeated very 


deliberately and with measured emphasis, '*If a man 
die, shall he live again ?" and an instant after I had 
finished the sentence I heard, ' 'Live again ?" The words 
came from somewhere — everywhere — nowhere — just as 
all my previous questions had been echoed back. The 
oracles were all dumb. To every one of my anxious 
inquiries the only answer I received was **the echo of 
my own wailing voice." 

The sun had disappeared behind the western mount- 
ains and night was fast coming on, but I could not get 
away from the lake-shore — nor from my thoughts. I 
sat, far into the night, on a rugged granite boulder — 
covered with greenish-gray lichens — that in the remote 
past had been detached by an unseen hand from one of 
the adjacent mountains, and reflected, seriously ponder- 
ing again and again oft-repeated questions. 

I asked myself, Are the questions that come up con- 
stantly out of the dephts of my own consciousness 
legitimate ? Have I a right to ask them ? If not, why do 
they so unceasingly suggest themselves to me ? Are there 
no satisfactory answers to these great questions that 
come surging forth from the great deep of my heart like 
giant breakers from the mighty ocean when high tide is 
flowing, only, like them, to be broken into fine spray on 
the shore of my own limited knowlege, and gradually 
mingle again with the ebbing tide to find again an un- 
stable home in the ^reat deep of my heart as before ? 
Are there no kindred intelligences, who are in as full 
sympathy with me as the reflecton of myself in the 
placid lake, to whom the answers to these vexing ques- 
tions of a common humanity have been given, and who 


will repeat them to me that my questioning heart may 
be satisfied ? 

Nature, away from the haunts of men, I had found 
to be strangely silent. The answers that men gave were 
simply the echoes of the questions they asked, just as 
my voice had reverberated from peak to peak finally 
dying away in the distance. Again I asked. If satis- 
factory answers to these perplexing questions are impos- 
sible, then why should every atom of my being forever 
and incessantly ask them ? 

Thus meditating, I wended my way towards where 
our tent was pitched, and late that night, by the flicker- 
ing light of the waning camp-fire, I read from an old 
book, *'The Lord God formed man of the dust of the 
ground, and breathed into his nostrills the breath of 
life; and man became a living soul." "Thou hast made 
man a little lower than angels, and hast crowned him 
with glory and honor. " Jesus said, ..... "I am the 
resurrection, and the life; he that beheveth in me, though 
he were dead, yet shall live; and whosoever liveth and 
believeth in me shall never die." 

My mind was at rest. I had found the solution of 
the problem, and with the stars keeping watch over me, 
I slept as peacefully as the placid lake in the bosom of 
the rugged mountains. 


Whoever does not know, or whoever has failed on 
any account to fully grasp the fact, that ' 'the entrance 
of God's word giveth light," is living far below his 
privileges — and duty. God, in his word, has given to 
mankind the solution of the perplexing problems of 


human life and destiny — yours and mine. Let us study 
the testimony that our Father has given us, not to 
criticise, but to gain knowledge — and find rest and peace. 
*'He giveth understanding unto the simple." 



As sea-birds ride upon the waves, 

So floats my soul on grace; 
Nor other resting-place she craves 

In wide, world-weary space. 
A deep, illimitable sea 

Of sunlit azure, running free, 
Rocks underneath her placid breast. 

With soft, pacific swell, 
Upbearing her in perfect rest; 

She knows that all is well. 

The seas of God unbounded roll 

Their shores no eye may trace. 
Unfathomed underneath my soul 

They lie, those deeps of Grace. 
And whether I am weak or strong, 

Grace still is broad and deep and long 
Upbearing, not of self is this 

Of self it lies outside. 
-Grace buoys me on its clear abyss. 

On to God's Glory-tide ! 




A Complaning Steamship. 

"Every man shall bear his own burden." — Gal. 6: 5. 

On opposite sides of a long wharf that extended far 
out into the harbor were two vessels receiving their 
cargoes of merchandise and lists of passengers prepara- 
tory to leaving for distant ports. One of these vessels 
was a bark, and the other was a steamship. Both had 
all the latest improvements, and had been well and 
securely constructed out of the best material under the 
direct supervision of master shipbuilders. As they 
rocked and swayed to and fro, as the dying swells of the 
great ocean gently chafed their bows, they seemed to be 
endowed with life, and anxious to be loosed from their 
moorings that they might begin the voyage that was 
before them. 

It was plain however that the majestic steamship — 
the * 'ocean greyhound," as she was spoken of by her 
numberous admirers — was possessed with a spirit of 
discontent amounting almost to mutiny. Those who 
could understand the language of ships said she was 
complaining bitterly because her bunker had been filled 
with tons and tons of coal to be used as fuel for her 
great furnaces during the voyage. She admired the 
tall masts and symmetrical spars and broad, white sails 
of her neighbor, the sailing vessel lying on the opposite 
side of the wharf, and especially envied her because she 
was free from what she called the ^'unnecessary burden 
— tons of horrid, sooty, black coal" — which she must 

At last all was in readiness for the voyage. The 


command was given, the gang blanks were raised, the 
sturdy sailors loosed the hawsers, and the two vessels 
slowly left their moorings and were soon speeding on 
toward the ports for which each was bound. The bark 
made good time scudding before a favorable breeze, 
while the steamship, though carrying discontentedly her 
heavy burden of coal, made even better time. All went 
well for some days, but one evening when they were in 
mid-ocean a terrible storm suddenly struck them. The 
sailors quickly reefed the sails of the bark and made 
every thing as secure as possible. All night long the 
wind blew a perfect gale. Heavy seas dashed entirely 
over the deck again and again, and the rigging, masts, 
spars, cross-trees, sails, every thing above deck — was 
carried completely away by the awful tornado. When 
the storm had spent its fury all that remained of the 
beautiful bark was the hull riding helplessly on the 
bosom of the mJghty ocean hundreds of miles from port 
and without any means whatever of continuing the 

The steamship had also been in the track of the 
storm, but far below where the angry billows dashed 
against the staunch sides of the vessel the stokers were 
faithfully heaving great quantities of the grimy coal, 
about which she had so bitterly complained, into her 
huge furnaces, thus enabling her not only to weather the 
gale but to make considerable progress in the di- 
rection of her destination in the very face of the storm. 
In due time she reached safely the port for which she 
was bound, and that too without any burden whatever. 
Gradually it had been lightened as she had continued 

2 1 2 HOPEFUL. 

the voyage until the last particle of it was gone — trans- 
formed as it was needed into propulsive energy — just be- 
fore the anchor was dropped in the harbor. Then the 
steamship not only ceased to murmer, but she was 
heartily ashamed that she had ever uttered one word of 


Men and women are as ships on the ocean — they are 
ships on the sea of life. When at last the anchor shall 
have been dropped in the "beautiful port of the blest," 
many a person, who may now at times be almost in a 
state of mutiny, will then be grateful for the burden 
with which he made the voyage. It saved him from 
being ship-wrecked in mid-ocean. 



Wait, my soul, the touches tender 
That seraphic spirits render 

In the soul's unrest. 
Wait in patience some sweet token, 
Words in holy vision spoken 

To my spirit blest. 

Wait the sure and quick unfolding 
Of the future, and the moulding 

In eternal hand. 
Of a life filled full of gladness. 
Scattered far all sin and sadness 

From the pleasant land. 

Dante and Matilda. 
From the Painting by A. Maignan. 


Wait for hope, celestial maiden, 
Spirit weak and heavy-laden; 

Lift the down-cast eyes; 
See the glow of radiant morning 
Bright her beauteous robes adorning, 

That through mists arise 

Look beyond the moanings, mortal, 
Touch with hopeful harld the portal, 

For thee opening wide; 
Tread thy feet the paths of duty 
Leading to the gates of beauty. 

To no soul denied. 



The uses of sorrow I comprehend 
Better and better at each year's end. 

Deeper and deeper I seem to see 
Why and wherefore it has to be. 

Only after the dark wet days 

Do we fully rejoice in the sun's bright rays. 

Sweeter the crust tastes after the fast 
Than the sated gourmand's finest repast. 

The faintest cheer sounds never amiss 
To the actor who once has heard a hiss. 

And one who has dealt with his grief alone 
Hears all the music by friendship's tone, 

So better and better I comprehend 
How sorrow ever would be our friend. 



Prospecter and Cfipitalist. 

Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee .... for 
"We be brethren, — Gen. 13: 8. 

There are two men who are co-workers, yes, brothers, 
—and each is the representative of two classes of per- 
sons that are frequently at emnity against each other. 

When one of these men was last seen he was dressed, 
in the garb of a "common laborer" — whatever that may 
mean. He wore a pair of antiquated cowhide boots into 
the tops of which were thrust the lower third of a pair 
of soiled, faded and patched overalls that still showed 
enough of the original material to indicate that they had, 
sometime in the remote past, been made of brown duck. 
His body and upper extremities were clad in a heavy red 
flannel shirt — out at the elbows, and other ways reveal- 
ing the fact that it had seen its best days — while around 
his neck, tied in a double bow-knot, were the remnants 
of a bandana handkerchief. His slouch hat was old, 
and dirty and worn. His grizzly beard was shaggy, and 
unkempt, while his long hair sprinkled with gray, hung 
in a tangled mass about his broad but "stooped" shoul- 
ders. His hands were hard and rough — rougher if pos- 
sible than his clothing — and his fingers calloused and 
curved till they were veritable arcs or segments of 

He was a "prospector" — a pioneer miner — one who 
had gone in advance of all civilization and safety to explore 
the rugged mountains for hidden treasure, gold and 
silver. He had located some of the richest mining 
claims, sold them for a trifling fraction of what they 


were afterwards found to be worth, and gone on about 
his business — prospecting — until you saw him as he was 

The other man, when he was last seen, wore a 
fashionable, tailor-made suit of the best imported goods. 
His haberdashery was of Knox's latest style. In his 
immaculately white shirt front he sported an elegant 
diamond pin, while his hands, which were as soft and 
delicate as those of a society woman, were decorated 
with heavy gold rings, and you could have seen yourself 
in his highly polished patent leather shoes. 

Thus attired he sat in his elegantly furnished down 
town office looking after his "mining interests," though 
he had seldom seen a mine, and could not have told the 
difference between galena and silver ore, or distinguished 
iron pyrites from gold quartz to save himself from 
purgatory. He is the president of a company composed 
of capitalists, organized to manufacture mining ma- 
chinery and develop and operate mines. 

Those two men are co-laborers — brothers — though 
they seldom recognize the true relation that exists be- 
tween them. The labor of the one and the capital of 
the other would be practically valueless if it were not 
for the co-operation they are compelled to carry out. 


Laborers and capitalists are joint helpers — fellow- 
workers — brothers. There should be no strife between 
them. Let the relation they properly bear to each other, 
be duly recognized, and all disputes and differences be- 
tween them be amicably adjusted. The request of each 
— the prayer — should be, "Let there be no strife, I pray 


thee, between me and thee — for we are brethren. " This 
is the tenth decade of the nineteenth century of the 
Christian era, and this the prayer suited to it. 


Lord God of Hosts, we come to Thee, 

In perilous times of cruel war, 
And ask Thy guardian care, lest we 

Transgress Thy perfect, holy law. - 

O, Lord of Hosts ! Wilt Thou imbue 
Our statesmen grave with wisdom true, 

And lead our armies in just cause 
Lest we transgress Thy holy laws. 

Before them Lord let tyrants go. 

But temper Thou the chastening blow; 

And hold the heathen lands in awe, 
Till taught Thy perfect, holy law. 

Be Thou our light, that we may stand 

As sponsors to these sin-cursed lands. 
Nor e'er Thy presence, Lord withdraw, 

Lest we transgress Thy holy law. 

And may our great incentive be. 

To better make humanity ! 
Forbid that we by slightest clause. 

Should mar Thy perfect, holy laws. 

And if by victories won should we 

Incline to boasting vanity, 
O, Lord, that we may quickly pause 

Ere we transgress Thy holy laws ! 




Two Villainous Old Hags. 

Our Savior Jesus Christ hath abolished death; and hath brought life 
and immortality to light through the gospel. — 2 Tim. i: 10. 

There shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor. crying, neither 
shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away. — 
Rev. 21 : 4. 

In a great city, a beautiful maiden, the favorite of 
all who knew her, was attacked, without any apparent 
provocation whatever, by two villainous old hags, who 
with relentless fury pursued her wherever she attempted 
to escape. Hundreds of people declared vengeance against 
the murderous assailants of the beloved maiden, and de- 
termined to apprehend them at all hazards, so the chase 
began. Pursued and pursuers rushed excitedly from 
place to place, now vanishing out of sight only to appear 
soon after in some unexpected part of the city. Thus 
the pursuit continued through the streets and lanes, 
crowded thoroughfares and dim alleys, till finally one of 
the vixens, who was always in advance of the other, 
overtook the fleeing damsel and struck her down. People 
rushed up from every direction and endeavored to pull 
the hag away from her prostrate victim, but in vain. 
Watching her opportunity, the other Nemesis of de- 
struction advanced unobserved into the midst of the 
company and with a great dagger, which she carried 
concealed about her person, struck the helpless maiden 
a vicious blow that instantly proved fatal. During the 
excitement that followed both her treacherous assailants 
escaped. Althongh everything was done to effect their 
arrest, that human courage and ingenuity could devise, 
it could never be accomplished. Just when there seemed 


to be a fair prospect of capturing one or both of them, 
and all hearts beat hopefully, they would suddenly turn 
on the officers of the law and others who were assisting 
them, and cause such terrible havoc that the attempt 
would have to be given up. They terrorized the whole 
city and the surrounding country. No person was safe, 
for in retaliation of the constant efforts that were being 
made to place them under arrest, they would enter the 
houses of both rich and poor and commit the most 
dastardly assults without any regard whatever for age, 
beauty, innocence, strength, family ties or any thing 

The mayor's wife was most brutally assaulted by 
these revengeful old hags, right before his eyes, and he 
was so dazed by the suddenness and violence of the 
attack that she was killed before he sufficiently recovered 
to render any assistance. A policeman's daughter, just 
blooming into beautiful womanhood, fell a victim to 
their relentless fury and jealousy. A councilman's son 
— a bright young man, full of promise, and the pride of 
the family — was stricken down by the repeated attacks 
that were made upon him by these vicious wretches. 
The only surviving child of a former city attorney's 
widow, her comfort and hope, suffered untold torture 
for weeks at the hands of one of these heartless viragoes 
till the other one appeared and, snatching the loved one 
away from its mother's tender embrace, cruelly put it to 
death. An honest poor man — one of earth's noblemen 
—who had to support, by daily toil, an invalid wife and 
a family of small children, was also the unfortunate 
object of attack by these furies, who did not desist from 


their iiendish work till the poor man's body was given to 
the undertaker. One of them repeatedly thrust a 
poisoned dart into his flesh, while he was performing 
his routine duties as a deputy in the city clerk's of^ce, 
till the pen dropped from his hand and he was assisted 
to a couch where, in great agony, he expired. These 
stealthy, old witches secreted themselves by some means 
in the private office of one of the leading banks, and 
suddenly springing upon the president, as he sat at his 
desk, garroted him, and when one of the tellers came in 
shortly thereafter to ask the president's advice concern- 
ing some business matter, he was shocked to find him 
dead and his assailants gone. 

Thus these impersonations of Diabolos cohtinued to 
terrorize the inhabitants of the city until a young man of 
majestic mien came to reside there, who, after a despe- 
rate struggle, succeeded in capturing and executing both 
of them, and there was great rejoicing. Nor was that 
all he did, for by some sort of supernatural power he 
restored to friends and loved ones those who had been 
slain — and there was universal joy, as the people all 
sang in one grand chorus, "O death, where is thy sting.? 
O grave, where is thy victory ?" 


In this allegorical sermon, the beautiful maiden, so 
universally loved, represents Life. The villainous old 
hags, whose jealous rage was so incessant and diabolical, 
are the reprecentatives of Disease and Death. And the 
young man, who slew them, and restored to their former 
places those whom they had slain, impersonates Christ, 
the Omnipotent Savior. 



'T was early morn. A soft and silvery light 
That gave fair promise of the coming day 
Tinted the eastern sky — then softer grew 
And sweetened into rose. 

With weary feet 
And hearts bowed down in sorrow, to the tomb 
The Marys came, with spice and sweet perfume 
For their dead Lord. They whispered, as they came, 
Of hope now vanished, and of dark despair 
That vanquished faith. 

Then suddenly there came 
Flashing from heaven, like a falling star, 
An angle to that rock-hewn sepulchre; 
Rolled back the stone that barred the narrow door, 
And sat upon it. They who guarded there, 
The Roman soldiery iti awful fear. 
Became as dead men. And the angel spoke 
From out his aureole of heavenly light. 
And said: "Why seek ye here, among the dead. 
The living King of Kings ? He is not here 
In this dark sepulchre. Nay, He is risen ! 
Go quickly now, and tell the joyful news 
To His disciples. " 

Upward, through the sky, 
The angel vanished to the land of light 
From whence he came. 

And then, with burying feet 
The women sped away. And as they ran 
They met Him — Lord of Lords and King of Kings, 
The risen Christ, their Savior and their God. 

Fast spread the news on earth; and hea'-ts that mourned 

That Israel's hope had vanished, sang with joy: 

"Now death is vanquished. Jesus lives and reigns, 

Forevermore. To Him be praise and glory." 

And echoed back from heaven came the strain. 

As myriad angels struck their harps anew; 

"All Hail ! All Hail ! Reign Thou forevermore !" 


Copyri;?ht 1899.— Oracle Publishing Co. 

' * • ' By Permission of Oracle Pub. Co. 

From the Painting by A. Naack. 



One day the fingers of the Lord 

Upon my eyes shall lie; 
And when their tender weight shall lift 

'T will be eternity. 

But while He holds my yielding lids 

With that soft force of His 
My spirit shall not sleep but wake 

Into His utter bliss. 




Forgive us who, thro' wilfulness or blindness, 
Have failed to see, O Christ, how good Thou art. 
Who, grieving Thee by doubt and all unkindness 
Have crucified afresh Thy tender heart. 
Arise within us ! Pardon our unfitness, 
And fit us by Thy grace to live again. 
O happy Easter which at last shall witness 
Thy resurrection in the hearts of men ! 




Building Influenced by Music. 

"Let every man take heed how he buildeth." — i Cor. 3: 10. 

The ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans attributed 
to their gods and goddesses wonderful and impossible 
things, and yet their mythology was not without at least 
a semblance of truth. Take, for instance, the building 
and fortifying of Thebes, as the account is given in 
Grecian mythology. 

Orpheus was the son of Apollo and Calliope, and was 
famous for his skill as a musician, it being such that the 
rocks and trees followed him when he sang or played. 
It was under the magic touch of his lyre that ancient 
Thebes was founded and the walls of the city built. 

Strange as it may at first appear, it is a fact that 
there has never been a superstructure of any kind erected 
except by the power and influence of music. No home 
has ever been built unless harmony, melody — music — 
has had some very important part in its erection. The 
material of which the house was built was brought to- 
gether by visible means, but the real motive power back 
of all else was the music of love or the house was mis- 
called a home, even if that was ostensibly the primary 
purpose for which the superstructure was reared, and 
the christening it was given. 

Then there are mausoleums that represent, not the 
expenditure of vital physical force' or energy, but the 
music of gratitude — a nation's grand requiem has only 
been materialized, that is all. The eye sees music in 
granite and marble — crypt and sarcophagus are petrified 
threnody and dirge — the music of a grateful nation 


above and over all in the sepulchral monuments that 
mark the sleeping-place of the patriot dead. 

Pyramids have been built to the music of folly — the 
wassail of ambition — the dirge-like wail of the oppressed, 
and when, after long years of rigorous labor, they were 
completed they were nothing but pyramids — great piles 
of rocks to no purpose whatever, but to serve as tombs 
for dead men — and foolish kings. 

Whole cities have been built to the discordant music 
— if the two words may, be thus connected — of weeping 
widows and wailing orphans, with the time-marking 
chink, chink of money — blood money — for an accom- 
paniment. Who does not know that God has pronounced 
a curse upon those who * 'build a town with blood and 
stablish a city by iniquity" ? And yet, to the music of 
oppression and greed, the building goes on. The city 
and the saloon thrive — but God, the avenger, reigns. 


''Let every man take heed how he buildeth." 


224 ' THE drunkard's LAMENT. 


(These verses were written by one of the brightest members of the New Orleans 
bar, and is a story of his own ruined Hfe.) 

I've been to the funeral of all my hopes, 
And entombed them one by one; 

Not a word was said, 

Not a tear was shed, 
When the mournful task was done. 

Slowly and sadly I turned me round, 
And sought my silent room', 

And there all alone 

By the cold hearthstone 
I weed the midnight gloom. 

And as the night wind, fresh and cool. 
Soothed my aching brow ^ 

I wept o'er days 

When manhood's rays 
Were brighter far than now. 

The dying embers on the hearth 
Gave out their flickering light. 

As if to say 

This is the way 
Thy life shall close in — night. 

I wept aloud in anguish sore 
O'er the blight of prospects fair. 

While demons laughed 

And eagerly quaffed 
My tears like nectar rare. 

Through hell's red hall an echo rang, 
An echo loud aud long 
As in the hovA 
I plunged my soul 
In the night of madness strong. 


And there within that sparkling glass 
I knew the cause to lie. 
This all men own 
From zone to zone, 
Yet millions drink and die. 


Blessings in Disguise, 

When that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part is done 
away. When I was a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a 
child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now 
we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; 
but then shall I know even as also I am known. — i Cor. 13: 10-12. 

The long drought was at last broken. For hours the 
cold, drenching rain had been falling in torrents. The 
bare, brown hills and the valleys between them of un- 
surpassed fertility, but now without scarcely a trace of 
vegetation, were being thoroughly wet for the first time 
in many months. Groups of poor, starving cattle stood 
close together in the more sheltered nooks among the 
hills lowing pitifully as the rain poured down upon them. 
For a long time they had subsisted by browsing the 
noxious weeds, plants and shrubs and even the prickly 
cacti, and added to all the suffering they had endured 
on account of lack of food they were being exposed, in 
their famishing condition, to a storm of wind and rain 
of unusual severity and duration. 

This was a fortnight or longer ago. Since then the 
warm weather has been conductive to the rapid growth 
of vegetation and the cattle are now cropping the tender 
herbage — wild oats, burr-clover, alfilare and foxtail — 
forgetful af their privitations, and utterly unconscious of 


the fact that the drenching rain, that had so greatly in- 
creased their suffering, was a blessing in disguise. 
Without it they would have died of starvation. It saved 

A man was hundreds of miles from his kindred and 
friends, truly a stranger in a strange land, poor — poverty 
stricken — and sick at heart. While in this pitiable 
condition, to add to his almost unendurable suffering, 
disease laid its relentless hand upon him, and for weeks 
his life hung in the balance. He was young in years 
but old in experience, and unprepared to stand before 
God in the judgement. Many times he had resolved to 
live a Christian life, but had always broken his good 
resolutions. He could yet be useful to himself and others 
— for if he was poor, he had talent, education, and 
ability — and he determined, if his life was spared, that 
he would put forth an untiring effort to make the sal- 
vation of his own soul an assured fact, and to save 
others by becoming a preacher of righteousness. He 
would be useful if he lived. This was his commendable 
resolution. Slowly health returned, till at last he was 
completely restored — and he remembered and carried 
out his good resolution. He had been saved to a life of 
blessed usefulness by the hand of disease that had been 
laid so heavily upon him, in addition to all the other 
misfortunes he had suffered, and to which he always 
referred thereafter as his greatest blessing in the strangest 


It is ever thus. Whoever he is that is not conscious 
of having had some of the chief blessings of his life come 


to him disguised by adversity must indeed be near- 
sighted or stupid. We may not, nay, will not, in this 
world understand the full meaning of many of our severest 
aflictions, but we shall know hereafter. We now see, if 
at all, "through a glass darkly." Let us trust God for a 
complete revelation in due time, and go forward in our 
work of righteousness and usefulness. 


November's rain upon the leaves, 

That lie in rut and gully- 
How sad a monody it weaves — 

A retrospection, truly 
Ofwh at the passing year has held 

For us in its completness. 
The springtide's blush, the autumn's yield, 

The summer's songs and sweetness. 

The blessings that we somehow lost 

When over-reaching eager. 
To gain our ends at whate'er cost 

Whose consummation, meager, 
Left us beside our molded clay 

Faint, sore, and weary-hearted 
With all the embers died away 

And all their warmth departed. 

November's rain — there comes to me 

With its incessant falling 
The prophecy — I failed to see 

The faint, sweet voices calling 
To orchard, grove, and dewy wood 

And daisy-tinted meadows 
A message had I understood 

Wonld lift me from the shadows. 


Oh ! senseless clay ! — how oft we mold 

Our poor designs, that never 
In expected grace unfold 

To crown our best endeavor. 
While in the very things we shun 

With all their beauty blended 
There is the blessing if on One 

We have alone depended. 


Pictographic Writing. 

There is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that 
shall not be known. — Luke 12: 2. 

God shall judge the secrets of men. — Rom. 2: 16. 

In many places in Arizona the exposed surfaces of 
the granite and porphyry on the buttes and mountains 
are covered with hieroglyphics or pictographs — picture- 
writing — supposed to be the records of some prehistoric 
race who inhabited the country ages ago. There are 
rude pictures of animals — such as snakes, lizards, men, 
mountain sheep, turtles; weapons of war — bows, arrows, 
spears, lances, — and geometric and other figures and 
characters chiseled or picked on the rock with some 
sharp-pointed instrument, and which to the observer are 
absolutely without order or system in their arrangement. 
There is no person living who can read this pictographic 
writing, and neither are there any traditions among the 
Indians concerning the origin or meaning of these strange 
characters. Many a man has looked upon them, 
wondered and wished — wished for a "key" or clew of 
some kind that would enable him to decipher them and 
translate the history there supposed to be written, but 
concealed by oblivion, and lack of knowledge. 


To climb some solitary mountain or butte in the 
midst of the broad Rio Solado — Salt River — valley 
with its great alfalfa, barley and wheat ranches, and, as 
far as the eye can see, look on the many other achieve- 
ments and evidences of modern civilization, and find at 
every step he takes as he makes the ascent, the rocks 
covered with fantastic enigmatical picture-writing, which 
is as great a puzzle as the celebrated "Riddle of the 
Sphinx" — the work of a people who inhabited the same 
valley perhaps centuries ago, and who evidently desired 
to live in the annals of the only land of which they had 
any knowledge — fills one with mingled sadness and 

What was the origin and destiny of the people who 
so laboriously chisseled their history in the flinty granite, 
where it remains perfectly legible and equally unin- 
telligible to this day ? The oft-repeated question remains 
to be answered. 


It is an astonishing fact that there may be one" who 
has walked by your side in the journey of life for many 
years, whose personal history during those years of in- 
timacy, confidence and love is as much a mystery to you 
as the hieroglyphics on the granite. The record of every 
life is written, more or less, in enigmatical pictographs 
— "cipher" words and phrases — and only he who does 
the writing, the autobiographer, has the "key" — only he 
and God. But "there is nothing covered that shall not 
be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known." 
"God shall judge the secrets of men." 
— — :o: 



Cold and deepening gray 
The fading light of day; 
And moaning restlessly, 
The stormy winter sea 
Dashes its waves 'gainst the rocky shore, 

As vainly striving forevermore 
Its wild, weird, murmuring song to voice. 

Till even its very depths rejoice, 
And weary earth awakes to sing, 
And melodies in heaven ring. 

Low buried in the deep. 
The murmuring song that sleeps. 
Only its plaintive moan 
And sweetest undertone 
Falls on our ear. Like muffled thunder, 

Rending the very rocks asunder, 
Escapes at last the imprisoned song; 

For, rolling its mighty waves along. 
Dashing o'er cliff and sand, the sea 
Is singing, unrestrained and free. 

Deep hidden in my breast 
Are thoughts yet unexpressed; 
And all the melodies 
And ceaseless harmonies 
Sung by my soul, throughout these weary years, 
Have found no words, no voice except in tears. 
And yet some happy day, I feel, I know 

The floodgates of my heart shall overflow. 
The chafing yoke, the dread environment 

Shall fall away; and then, at last content, 
My spirit shall, e'en like the tuneful sea. 
Sing unrestrained through all eternity. 




Not All a Dream. 

For as we have many members in one body, and all members have 
not the same office; so we, being many are one body in Christ, and every 
one members one of another. Having then gifts differing according to 
the grace that is given to us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according 
to the proportion of faith; or ministry, let us wait on our ministring; or 
he that teacheth, on teaching; or he that exhorteth on exhortation; he that 
giveth, let him do it with simplicity; he that ruleth. with diligence. 
Rom. 12! 4-8. 

One day, being somewhat indisposed, I was sitting 
in my easy chair before the fire aiid dropped into a doze 
of sleep when suddenly I was startled by hearing the 
sound of strange voices apparently quite near me, and 
as I believed myself to be the sole occupant of the house 
at that time my interest was at once aroused. Rubbing 
my eyes and looking about the room I could not see any 
person nor could I hear a sound. Thus assured that I 
was all alone, I said to myself, "Only a dream," and 
settled myself down to enjoy another nap, when to my 
astonishment I again heard unfamiliar voices very near 
me engaged, as I soon perceived, in quite an animated 
discussion, and listening attentively I discovered that the 
several parts of my body had grown dissatisfied with the 
work each had been doing, and that they were also 
finding fault with the manner in which the various other 
organs had been performing their functions. I frequently 
heard such expressions as "this constant drudgery," 
"neglect of duty," "no easy task, " "ceaseless labor," 
"an inexcusable imposition," "awful routine," "lack of 
appreciation," "shirking co-laborers," and "your work 
and mine too." 


The feet were complaning bitterly about their ''hard 
lot in hfe," saying, "We have never been treated v^ith 
any consideration. We are thrust into leather and iron 
prisons, and kept there during the entire day, year in 
and year out, and in that constrained position, deprived 
of our natural rights,, and treated by the rest of you 
with the utmost contempt, we are compelled to be the 
slaves of our inferiors. The weather is never too cold, 
the night too dark, or the way too rough for you to 
think of having any mercy on us. We must carry you 
to the theater, or banquet, or other place of amusement, 
if we are able to go at all, and remain there against our 
wish as long as you choose, that eyes and ears and 
tongue may be gratified, and we protest against this 
constant and unrequited drudgery and the slavish life 
we are compelled to live. We deserve and demand 
better treatment." 

To this complaint, that was based on incontrovertible 
facts, the eyes were saying, ' 'If we only had as easy a 
time of it as you have we would be satisfied. You do 
not seem to realize that there is any danger in the world. 
You would go directly in front of the moving train and 
be crushed and mangled, or walk off the wharf into the 
ocean and drown yourselves and us too if we were not 
constantly on the lookout. No matter how dazzling the 
light may be, or how dark the night, we have to be 
constantly on the alert to prevent you bringing some 
terrible calamity upon all of us. You are as heedless of 
danger as you are blind. Oh, dear, oh dear, such 
vigilance as we have to keep, and such a sorrowful lack 
of appreciation !" 


In response to this the hands were declaring that the 
eyes were super-sensitive, and did not appreciate what 
was being done for their gratification. "Have you for- 
gotten," said the hands, "when less than a fortnight ago 
you were taken out into the country behind one of the 
finest, high-spirited teams of thoroughbred horses in the 
whole state, that you might enjoy ' 'a needed recreation(!)" 
that we held the lines till we were doubled up like a 
jack-knife with pain; and that you never once said, 
"Thank you .-*" We will leave it to any disinterested per- 
son to say if you have not been selfishly ungrateful. The 
very least that can be said is that you have shown a sad 
lack of common courtesy. " 

"Have we ever been honored," the ears were inter- 
jecting into this free-for-all discussion, that was being 
carried on without moderator or referee," have we ever 
been honored," we say, "by having had presented to us 
a pair of patent leather shoes as have the feet, or French 
kid gloves as the hands, or imported lenses such as the 
eyes are privileged to see through .?" During all this 
tirade the ears had overlooked the fact, just as many 
persons do who have privileges and blessing that they 
ordinarily esteem of much more value than those of 
others, that they were the sole possessors of a pair of 
elegant diamonds — the gift of a friend, which made them 
doubly valuable. C(3nsistency is indeed a rare jewel in 
the midst of controversy and contention. 

Realizing that every organ and part of my body was 
manifesting the same disposition as that of my hands, 
feet, eyes and ears I very readily understood why I was 
ill, but did not so easily perceive what or where a remedy 

234 IF WE KNEW. 

could be found, so I had to wait as patiently as possible 
for ''nature to take its course." 


Sometimes the members of the church — ''the body 
of Christ"(.?) — develops alarming symptoms. A spirit of 
bickering, fault-finding and insubordination takes com- 
plete possession. Selfishness and egotism reign supreme. 
There is no recognition of the value or helplessness, of 
others. Invidious comparisons are made. The result 
is that the body becomes sick — dangerously, often 
fatally, sick. 

If the following remedy is administered liberally it will 
speedily relieve and in a short time permanently cure the 
worst case; "Be kindly affectioned one to another with 
brotherly love; in honor preferring one another." Do 
not wait for "nature to take its course." Death will be 
the result if you do. 


If we knew when walking thoughtless 

Through the crowded, noisy way, 
That some pearl of wondrous whiteness 

Close beside our pathway lay, 
We would pause where now we hasten, 

We would often look around 
Lest our careless feet should trample 

Some rare jewel on the ground. 

WILL IT PAY ? 235 

If we knew, when friends around us 

Closely press to say "Good by," 
Which, among the lips that press us. 

First would 'neath the daisies lie, 
We would clasp their arms around us, 

Looking on them through our tears, 
Tender words of love eternal 

We would whisper in their ears. 

Will It Pay? 

"When lust hath conceived it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is 
finished, bringeth forth death." — James 1: 15. 

The young man from whose letter the following 
extracts have been made, is known to me personally and 
has and shall continue to have my prayers, sympathy and 
assistance in his efforts to lead a manly Christian life. I 
do not wish to cast any reproach upon him, but desire 
that others may profit by his experience. I shall con- 
sider it a duty to him to keep his name a secret. 

State Penitentiary, Nov. 2, 1894. 
Dear Friend: 

There are bad characters on every side. Human 
ruin can be seen without much hunting. Any ruin is 
sad but human ruin is the saddest of all. Such wreck 
of health, such ruin of manly strength, moves us to grief 
and saddens us to tears. But deeper, darker, more 
profoundly miserable, and utterly desolate is the specta- 
cle of a strong man yielding to the mastery of drink, 

236 WILL IT PAY ? 

There is the gradual loss of self-respect; the decay of the 
moral sentiments; the growing paralysis of the will, 
until at last utterly indifferent, or defiantly reckless, he 
staggers through the gloomy prison gates with disgrace 
behind him and retribution before him. Not with one 
wild leap does any one go down this fearful abyss of sin 
and shame. The end is reached after innumerable 
resolutions have been broken. The victim makes many 
a brave effort to withstand the demon who is pushing 
him on, and when at last disarmed of noble purpose, 
without the will to resist, or the ability to fully compre- 
hend his disgrace, he sinks into utter irremediable 
selfishness and drifts, almost unconsciously, to his doom. 
It is the saddest sight in the whole universe of God. 
Such sad and painful wrecks meeting your eyes where'er 
they may roam, you can imagine how I am situated. . . . 
If you try to tell them (he refers to the convicts) there 
is a God, and that if they turn their steps backward and 
do right, they shall have everlasting life, they will laugh 
at you and say **you are a crank, and how came you here.^ 
Why not, if a Christian, live outside of prison and enjoy 
the pleasures of God's children ? Why did you come to 
prison if you are so good ?" They do not think it possible 
that one could reform in here. All that the most of 
them do in thinking of the future, is to plan robbery and 

such like It is hard to endure, but I will soon 

be in the land of the living again, and then I sincerely 
hope my troubles will end, that is, such as I have here, 
and my future actions will be for the best. It is my 
sole desire now to help the poor and helpless through 
this world. 

WILL IT PAY ? 237 

I have written all I can now and will close by wishing 
you a long and happy Christian life. 

Your friend, 


There are many young men who are dangerously 
near the vortex of eternal ruin, and it is with the prayer- 
ful hope that some of them may be made to see the 
danger they are in and to flee from it, that these extracts 
are thus given to the public. 

The two chief dangers, and one is the complement 
of the other, to our young men and youths, are evil 
companions and bad habits. The boy or young man 
who would fight life's battle successfully must eschew 
both. Personal purity is absolutely essential. He is 
wise who learns from observation rather than from his 
own experience, that he who has "sown wild oats" in 
his youth is forever handicapped in the race of life. 

Young man, read the above letter carefully and then 
the poem, * 'Never Soars So High Again," and when you 
have done this sit down calmly with yourself and God 
and answer the question, "Will it pay } 



— o — 

(It IS said that the following pathetic verses were written by a convict in the 
State Penitentiary of Illinois.) 

I walked through the woodland meadow, 

Where the thrushes sweetly sing, 
And I found on a bed of mosses 

A bird with a broken wing; 
I healed its wounds, and each morning 

It sang its old sweet strain; 
But the bird with the broken pinion 

Never soared so high again. 

1 found a young life broken 

By sin's seductive art, 
And, touched with the Christ-like spirit, 

I took him to my heart; 
He lived with a noble purpose. 

And struggled not in vain; 
But the life that sin had stricken 

Never soared so high again. 

But the bird with the broken pinion. 

Kept another from the snare. 
And the life that sin had stricken 

Raised another from despair; 
Each loss has its compensation; 

There is healing for every pain; 
But the bird with the broken pinion 

Never soars so high again. 


The Stranded Vessel. 

Even so we, when we were children, were in bondage under the 
elements of the world; but when the fullness of the time was come. God 

sent forth his Son, made to redeem them that were under the 

law that we might receive the adoption of sons. — Gal. 4- 3-5. 

For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost, — Matt. 18 : 11. 

The vessel was stranded. In the darkness of the 
night she had lost her course and had been "grounded" 
on a sandbar many leagues from the main land. There 
was hope that at the dawn of the day help would be 
near, but the luckless seamen were doomed to disap- 
pointment, for no friendly sail was visible. Increasing 
anxiety filled every soul. Not only were they in immi- 
nent peril, but if the storm, that appeared to be gather- 
ing, should sweep down upon them all certainly would be 
lost. Suspense, awful suspense, overwhelmed them. 
With dreadful forebodings they watched and waited 
while the weary hours wore slowly away without bring- 
ing any relief. 


The tide is rising. Heavy swells, impelled and 
urged along by some mysterious and unseen power, come 
rolling toward the desolate, storm-swept sandbar where 
the hopeless vessel, with its precious cargo of souls, is 
at the mercy of the tempest. Each succeeding wave 
breaks higher on the bar and, rebounding, is engulfed by 
the same omnipotence that had cast it upon the strand, 
only to be heaved up with tremendous power again and 
again. Energy — the marvelous energy of mighty force 
— is behind and with every pulsation of the throbbing 


sea, but strangely enough many of the endangered sea- 
men are utterly unconscious of the existence of this 
tremendous energy, and fail entirely to recognize the 
fact that relief is coming in this way. 

The sails are trimmed to catch the friendly breeze, 
and when the rising tide floats the stranded craft, and 
she is released from her imprisonment, she is wafted on 
her way, and at last drops anchor within the harbor — 
saved from the fury of the elements — saved from 
impending destruction — -saved by the rising tide and the 
favoring breeze — both sent of God. 


In the darkness of heathen superstition humanity's 
bark went aground. Shipwreck seemed inevitable, but 
the rising tide of God's providence, as m.anifested to- 
ward the world through seers and prophets, and, '-in the 
fullness of time" by Immanuel himself, saved the stranded 



— o — 

Shout the tidings far and near, 

Jesus saves; 
Let every tribe and nation hear, 

Jesus saves; 
He has bought us by his blood — 
He, the only Son of God, 
Now invites us by his Word, 

Jesus saves 

Though our sins like scarlet be, 

Jesus saves; 
He will set the captive free, 

Jesus saves. 
When we reach the heavenly shore, 
With all our friends who've gone before, 
We shall sing forevermore, 

Jesus saves. 


— o — 

My dearest Lord, from whom all sweetness flows 
Whose gentle hand along life's path alway 
Doth ever lead me safely day by day, 

With Thee alone is resting and repose. 

E'en though I wander where the tempest blows. 
Where all the skies are shadowed by the gray, 
Still may I feel the balms of thy sweet May, - 

Safe folded in the calms Thy love bestows. 

Through sunshine and through storm Thy whispered peace, 
Like softest music drifting on the air. 

Soothes the tired spirit till its tumults cease, 

And Heaven's own restfulness it doth share, 

O, Then, dear Lord; art of all peace the source 

Whereunto Thy children have recourse ! 



Two ConcervatiYe Old Farmers. 

"He that soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; but he that 
soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully." — 2 Cor. 9:6. 

Two old farmers, each the owner of many broad 
acres of fine fertile land, which were so many op- 
portunities to increase their harvest, were in a quandary. 
The seed-time was rapidly approaching, and their neigh- 
bors were actively engaged in making preparations for 
the sowing of their seed-grain — joyfully anticipating the 
harvest, for had not God always given, and would he 
not continue to give, the increase in due season ? But 
these old farmers were perplexed. While they had never 
failed to reap, year by year, from thirty to one hundred 
fold, they were now seriously debating whether or not 
they should sow any grain at all. They frequently 
counseled together concerning the matter, each time 
going over approximately the same ground, and of course 
arriving at substantially the same conclusion. 

They reasoned that they were getting old and could 
not "take chances" as they once did. They believed 
there was much wisdom in the saying that ' 'a bird in the 
hand is worth two in the bush." To be sure, the harvest 
had never failed for them. It had always been a bounti- 
ful increase over the amount of seed sown. True, some- 
times it had not been as abundant as in some previous 
years, and they had never failed to complain because the 
yield had not been greater. If they had received thirty- 
fold they were dissatisfied because it was "so poor a 
yield," and wished that it had been sixty, and when it 
was sixty-fold they were not satisfied because it was not 


a hundred. There had never been a failure for them, 
but what if there should be ? They had heard of failures, 
and why might they not expect one ? So they decided to 
sow a few bushels and to keep the balance of their seed 
in their granaries and allow the greater portion of their 
land to lie idle. This would be a conservative and safe 
course to pursue. Accordingly they sowed sparingly, 
while their neighbors^younger men — sowed bountifully. 

The season was favorable — just enough sunshine and 
showers — and the young plants grew luxuriantly and 
promised to yield abundantly. But the old farmers 
rubbed their hands together and thought it was very 
probable that something would happen to the growing 
crop before the harvest. A hail storm might destroy the 
grain, it might "rust" or "blight,'' the drought might 
strike it, chinch bugs kill it, or, if none of these things 
happened, it might turn to "cheat !" 

But none of these calamitous things did happen, and 
the harvest yielded more than a hundred-fold. Then 
the two old farmers regretted that they had not sown 
bountifully. But it was to late. The seed-time was for 
ever gone. 


As men grow old the tendency is decidedly towards 
conservatism. They become timid and are distrustful 
of that which has not already been realized. They sow 
sparingly. This is seen in the failure of many old men 
to be liberal contributors to the missionary enterprises 
of the church, especially if they have not been generous 
givers, and in their hesitancy or refusal to originate or 
engage in any new enterprises. Be not solaced into 


inactivety now with the thought that you will sow 
bountifully in the future. Act in the spring-time of 
your opportunity. Sow bountifully and God will see 
that in due season you shall reap also bountifully. 



Beside my window, in the early spring, 

A robbin built her nest and reared her young; 
And every day the same sweet song she sung 

Until her little ones had taken wing 

To try their own bird-living; every thing 
Was done before the summer roses hung 
About our home, or purple clusters swung 

Upon our vines at autumn's opening. 

Do your work early in the day or year, 

Be it a song to sing, or word to cheer, 

Or house to build, or gift to bless the race; 

Life may not reach its noon or setting sun; 

No one can do the work you leave undone, 
For no one ever fills another's place. 



— o — 

O Prince of peaceaccept this prayer 
For hearts which war doth bruise ! 
Have they not most to look for there 
Who here have most to lose ? 



The Broken Pear Tree. 

Keep thyself pure. — i Tim. 5: 22. 

How vividly the experiences and incidents of one's 
childhood reappear when in middle life we take a retro- 
spective view of the past. Among the scores of experi- 
ences that come trooping back from my boyhood's days 
there is one that lingers longer in my mind than many 
others more striking, but just why it should do so I can 
not tell unless it is because of its metaphorical or typ- 
ical significance. It is this: 

One spring my father planted, along with many 
other trees, shrubs and vines, intended for fruit-bearing, 
two dwarf pear trees. They were beautiful specimens, 
and my father had planted them, so he said, because 
they would bear fruit much earlier than the * 'standard" 
varieties. As they appear to me now, standing in the 
old garden directly north of the stone house and in 
close proximity to the low, ''shed" kitchen with its 
drooping eaves — I am certain I see them now exactly as 
they were then — they do strike me as being rather 
precocious, bearing a close resemblance to old standard 
pear trees, except that they are of such diminutive pro- 

I believed my father when he assured me that they 
would produce a crop of fruit in two or three years, and 
looked forward with fond anticipation of the time when 
I should eat ripe, luscious pears, for, living on the 
western frontier, I had never tasted a pear in my life. 
So with unfeigned delight I carefully cultivated those 


trees during the entire spring and summer, not permit- 
ting a weed to grow near them, and they gr^w vigorously. 
But one day my father discovered that there were 
"borers" in one of them just below the surface of the 
ground and that they had almost girdled it. The worms 
were removed and a little mound of earth thrown up to 
support the injured tree, and my father thought that 
possibly the wound would heal in due time and hoped 
that but little or no damage would result, as the cause 
had been entirely removed. 

Both trees appeared to thrive equally well, and two 
or three years after they were planted each bore a score 
or more of fine pears, but one night, just before the fruit 
was ripe, there was a storm of rain and wind and in the 
morning one of the trees lay prostrate. It had broken 
where it had been girdled by the worms. The tree, 
with its crop of fruit almost matured, was a total loss. 
My expectations, so far as that tree was concerned, 
could never be realized. I was sadly disappointed, but 
the lesson it taught me has been worth a hundred times 
more than the value of the score or two of pears — if 
every pear had been pure gold. 


Many persons fail to. realize their fondly cherished 
expectations because they have not sufficient strength to 
do so. They do as well as others, apparently, when 
their environment and circumstances are congenial, but 
when assailed by the storms of temptation and adversity 
they go down. Life is a failure at last, with all its 
previous promises of success, because the worms of 


licentiousness, intemperance, impurity, dishonesty, or 
some other sinful habit girdled the tree of manhood. 

'Keep thyself pure." 


"What a friend we have in Jesus," 

Sang a being crushed by sin. 
Never had he claimed that friendship 

When the world looked fair to him. 

Then he sought for earthly pleasure, 
Earthly friends had been his stay. 

Life to him was only sunshine, 
Roses o'er his pathway lay. 

But the life he led was double. 
And the face that seemed so fair 

Only masked a heart so cruel. 
Dark deceit was lurking there. 

And when now the dark clouds gathered, 
And his close impending doom 

Soon would break in blackening fury 
O'er the life his friends thought pure. — 

O the scorn, how could he brave it ? 

When he knew each friend would flee 
The reproach, how could he bear it ? 

When his friends his foes would be. 


Then it was he sought the solace 

Of the sweet words of the song, 
Jesus, whom he'd always slighted. 

Would the first forgive his wrong. 


At the Summit of the Divide, 

Thus saith the Lord, Behold, I have set before you the way of life 
and the way of death. — Jer 21:8. 

Imagine two trains, each headed in opposite direc- 
tions, standing on the track of the Southern Pacfic 
Raih-oad in Southern Cahfornia, at the summit of the 
* 'divide" — known locally as the San Gorgonio Pass. 
They have been halted to permit passengers to get on 
or off at the station. The signal will soon be given, 
and they will speed on their way, the distance between 
them rapidly widening as they glide down the grade on 
either side of the pass into the open, level country which 
lies before them. To go in either direction is quite easy, 
all depending upon the train taken at the station. It 
is simply a matter of choice. 

On one side of the "divide" is the beautiful Santa 
Ana valley, in which are thriving towns and villages, 
lovely orange and lemon groves, cozy homes, happy 
people, enchanting scenery, fertility, prosperity, — life\ 
and beyond the valley the deep blue sea, the majestic 
Pacific, emblem of eternity. 


On the other side of the pass is "Death Valley," a 
desert of shifting sand, salt and alkali, without a human 
habitation except the few dull red station houses, with 
double roofs, to keep off somewhat the fierce rays of the 
summer sun that parch and blister and kill. As far as 
the eye can see there is nothing but desolation, lone- 
liness, sterility, decoying mirages — death; and beyond 
the desert the bleak, bare, black, sun-burned mountains 
looking down upon the shifting, treacherous, sandy 
waste, the very symbol of relentless wrath. 


There are set before every individual this day "the 
way of life and the way of death," and the power and 
opportunity to choose which way he will go. You may 
be — aye, you are — at the station now where the trains 
pass, ready to take the one or the other. Great question 
— which one } 




She held a fragrant rose within her hand, 

A shell-pink rose within a shell-pink palm; 
She was the fairest maiden in the land, 

With cheek so pure, and brow so saintly calm, 
With yearning heart I bent to say farewell, — 

Vainly I strove to read the eyes of brown; 
If love for me dwelt there I could not tell, 

Such sudden shyness held the sweet lids down. 

And then for long I wandered in far lands, 

But everywhere a vision followed me; 
Always I saw the beckoning of sweet hands. 

The rose enticed me with its fragrancy. 
Lured by a presence that in every place 

Drew invisibly, with strength serene, 
Backward I turned, — the old paths to retrace, 

Compelled by "sweetest eyes that e'er were seen." 

And still she held a rose within her hand, 

A white sweet rose, within a whiter palm, 
The soft hair folded like a golden band 

Above the cheek so pure, the brow so calm, 
But oh! the pallor and the chill! and oh! 

How could I look upon the eyes of brown? 
If love for me dwelt there I ne'er cou'd know, 

Such cruel coin-weights pressed the pale lids down. 



From the painting by Paul Thumann. 



If I could live some days again, 
Some sweet, bright days of long ago. 

When hope was young and had not known 
The chill of failure's dreary snow, 

Would I not give in glad exchange 
These languid hours that slowly flow — 

I know not how! — to lave the last 

Bleak ruin of a wasted past! 

If I could live some days again, 
Days that knew no regretting, 

Days whose bright hopes, sweet smiles, deep throbs, 
Can never find forgetting, 

Days in the mellow glow of youth, 
Hours with a golden setting, — 

Who would not give the dull day's pain 

To live his Yesterdays again ! 

If I could live some days again. 
Some days of youth's sweet early love. 

When every parting had a hope 
That it alone could fully prove. 

When thoughts of beauty sped the soul, 
As fleeting wings to burnished dove, 

I'd give them all, these days of pain, 

To live just half those days again. 

But there were days all clouded o'er, 
I knew not how the hours could pass. 

Those cruel hours ! Why could they not 
Bear me with them like whithered grass 

On dark waves tossed ! Life's visor closed 
My vision as a blackened glass, 

I would not live my days again, 

If with the sweet must throb the pain. 

252 ''I DID NT DO IT. 

For not the thrill of love's first kiss, 
For not the glory of a name, 

The ecstacy of youthfull life, 
The deep, deep passionate draught of fame, 

The quick, shy flutter of the heart, 
That came when love, success, first came. 

Could pay me for that bitter hour 

When lost that love, that hope, that power. 

It may be I will live again 
Those hopes, in some far distant time; 

Youth's aspiration may not be 
Too low to bloom in heaven's clime. 

Then may the flowers and fruits of love, 
The painless fame of worth be mine; 

And far beyond the mortal ken, 

I'll live some days — some days ! — again. 



'*I Did'nt Do It." 

Son, remember. — Luke 16: 23 

Some years ago I was traveling in California and 
when the train stopped at Fresno . I witnessed a scene 
which can never be effaced from my memory. It was 
that of forcibly placing a strong young man on board the 
car. On some account he had become violently insane, 
and to keep him from injuring himself and others his 
feet had been securely fastened together with a leather 
strap, and his hands pinioned tightly behind his back. 
Three or four men carried him from the depot and 
placed him in the car, evidently with the purpose of 
taking him to one of the asylums for treatment. He 
had been given a powerful opiate of some kind to render 
him less violent which caused him to lie the greater part 

"I did'nt do it." 253 

of the time in a stupor, but occasionally he would start 
as if suddenly awakened from sleep, look wildly about 
for a moment and then slowly closing his eyes, like he 
was gently falling asleep, as he relapsed into a comatous 
condition again, would repeat, with measured emphasis, 
two or three times, "I did'nt do it. I — did'nt — do — it.- 

I — did'nt do — — " Then he would remain quiet for 

a few minutes, except for his labored breathing, as though 
in a deep sleep, but, opening his eyes quickly and with 
a wild, startled look he would gaze about him and as he 
again relapsed into unconsciousness would repeat as 

before, "I did'nt do it. I — did'nt — do — it. I did'nt 

do it. I did'nt " 

What he had not done, that seemed to haunt him in 
his delirium like a horrid nightmare, I never knew, but 
there seemed to be some real or imaginary connection 
between his neglect of duty, or non-performance of a 
certain act, and his present deplorable condition, which 
he appeared to semi-consciously recognize and regret 
without having the power to correct. 


It may be proper to say that "a word is the sign of 
an idea," but no word nor any number of words, can 
adequately express that condition of mind — that horrible 
agony — that a person may experience who willfull}^ and 
persistently does wrong. There is probably no punish- 
ment more severe than that which we endeavor to — but 
can not — express by the word "remorse." Memory is a 
terrible avenger of unrighteousness, and it is that faculty 
of the mind that retains its normal condition and 
performs its function longest of any of the attributes of 

2 54 ALONE. 

the mind. This being true, it would be wise instead of 
saying, "Son, remember," to say, "Son, anticipate." 
That is, go before, precede, and prepare the way by 
pure thoughts, kind words and good deeds for pleasant 
memories for the years and ages to come, so that there 
will be no cause for remorsefully repeating *'I did'nt do 
it. I — did'nt — do — it." Yes, son, by all means wisely 


Your fair young face has strangely altered 

Since last I saw its smile; 
Why have your spirit-wings so faltered, — 

Why glooms your brow the while ? 

I knew you had a pure ambition, — 
You thought you knew the world ! 

Why trail your banner in contrition, 
So gallantly unfurled ? 

If right is right, it's right forever ! 

I knew the world would sneer; 
Ah, well ! The souls that God holds dearest, 

His heaviest burdens bear. 

If all but one did scoff at merit. 

Could you not be that one ? 
There's not a star in all the heavens 

That has not shone alone 

'Tis but a trait of brute creation 

To follow with the herd, 
To laugh when others laugh, to sneer 

When faith is called absurd. 

The Sign Painter. 
From the Painting by A. Perez. 


So, if you find truth lowly, scorned, 

And stoop to warm her heart, 
Just give the throng a passing thought, 

For you and it must part ! 

'Tis not the throng that beats the path 

From gloom to second Eden; 
Those trails are narrow, one by one, 

That thread the heights of heaven. 

Let the throng go, — 'tis better so ! 

But one can hold a throne. 
There's not a star beams from afar 

That has not shone alone. 



An Insecure Building. 

Iniquity shall be to you as a breach ready to fall, swelling out in a 
high wall, whose breaking cometh suddenly at an instant. — Ps. 62: 4. 

On the corner of A and C streets, two of the principal 

thoroughfares of the city of , there stands a large 

brick building with old sandstone trimmings, which at- 
tracts universal attention and admiration on account of 
its architectural symmetry and beauty and its imposing 
appearance. It is not known, however, except to a few 
persons, that the building is not as substantial and 
secure as its appearance indicates. In fact, when it was 
being erected it was found that the outside walls were 
seriously "out of plumb," so much so that they had to 
be "anchored" to keep them from falHng before the 
building was completed. Thus it stands to-day, as 
beautiful as a dream in brick and stone, but a source of 
constant danger to life and property. 


A master mechanic, who had done some work on the 
building when it was being erected, said a few days ago, 
"If those 'anchor-rods' should break, that building, 
substantial as it appears, would immediately collapse." 


How many people there are in the world whose 
characters are "out of plumb," though this is not gener- 
ally known, and whose absolute collapse would be 
inevitable and awful if the "anchor-rod" of culture, 
politeness and policy should break. 

Use the plumbline of thorough honesty frequently 
and with great care on the temple of character. A 
perpendicular wall is much better than a "bowing wall," 
however much its beauty may be admired and its weak- 
ness unobserved. Remember that accomplishments are 
of no practical value if the character God sees is ' 'out of 



We are laying the stones, just one at a time, 

The priceless and rare with the polished and white, 
The Master will have in his beautiful clime 

No temple but that which is fair to his sight. 
He sees, what we builders, have fashioned each day, 

How much or how little the work of each hand, 
And knows just the substance that crumbles away 

And that which the ravage of time can withstand. 


The grasp of hand that is friendly and warm, 

The deed that is all so unselfishly wrought, 
The tho't we expressed, that in crystallized form 

Perpetuates truths that the Savior has taught, 
The offer of that, which will lift from the dephts 

The soul that is dying to marvelous light, 
And lead to safe footing the faltering steps 

That stumble so near to the threshold of Right. 
Thus beautiful temples we build. 



The Old Harp. 

I know that ye all, among whom I have gone preaching the kingdom 
of God, shall see my face no more. Wherefore I take you to record this 
day, that I am pure from the blood of all men; for I have not shunned to 

declare unto you all the counsel of God Remember, that by 

the space of three years I ceased not to warn every one of you night and 

day with tears I have coveted no man's silver, or gold, or 

apparel. Yea, ye yourselves know, that these hands have ministered 

unto my necessities, and to them that were with me And when 

he had thus spoken, he kneeled down, and prayed with them all. And 
they all wept sore, and fell on Paul's neck, and kissed him, sorrowing 
most of all for the words which he spake, that they should see his face 
no more. — Acts 20: 25-38. 

On the casement of the window, just where the outer 
and inner worlds meet, an Aeohan harp — a very precious 
family heirloom — had been placed at semi-regular inter- 
vals during many long years until it had become a part 
of the quaint old house, like the antique clock on the 
mantel, and the andirons in the w^ide fire-place, and the 
pictures on the walls — to have removed permanently 
any one of which would have been to remove a part of 
the house itself. It would have been nothing less than 
sacrilegous vandalism to have taken any one of these 


familiar and time-honored objects from its accustomed 

During all the years the old harp had always re- 
sponded to every wind that blew. Its low, sweet music 
had floated through the house when on quiet summer 
evenings gentle zephyrs — like fond grand-children kissing 
an aged grand-sire — had caressed it. And when the 
strong wind sprang up and blew with steady monotony 
from the same direction for many days together, the 
harp sung its sweetest strains without ceasing or com- 
plaining. The furious blast, that preceded and ac- 
companied the hurricanes, only made it more determined 
to also accompany the raging storm-king with melodious 
music, and thus, if possible, like David playing before 
king Saul, cause him to forget his anger. Because the 
harp had the peculiar faculty of turning every wind 
that blew — whether ill or good — into delightful music it 
was a universal favorite in that old home. 

When the children, and the grand-children, with 
merry shout and laughter romped from cellar to garret 
in that house, making every piece of timber in floors, 
and walls, and roof vibrate responsively, and when they 
sang the songs of happy childhood till the halls echoed 
and re-echoed, the harp on the window sill romped, and 
laughed and sang too. Laughed in joyous accord with 
the light-hearted children, and sang with them to in- 
crease their joy. 

And on the wedding day, when to the music of organ, 
and guitar, and violin, deftly touched by skillful fingers, 
the blushing bride — reared in that home from a ''wee, 
bit of a child," as grandpa continued to think of her, tq 


a queenly woman — was "given away" in marriage, the 
harp on the casement joined in the wedding march, and, 
so much was it in harmony with the spirit of the occa- 
sion that it kept on and on with its cheerful strains after 
the other players had ceased. To the accompaniment 
of its own music the harp sang of happiness and success 
in life. Sang thus to the newly-wedded, and with de- 
lightful anticipation of the future they drank great 
draughts of unalloyed pleasure. 

And when the chamber was darkened, and the badge 
of mourning was on the outer door because death was 
within, the harp sang for the bereft. Sang to console 
them. Sang, soft and low, of peace, and rest, and 
heaven, and home. Sang and the broken-hearted were 


•x- ' * * 

The good man, grown old in the service of the Master, 
leaned heavily on the top of his staff. For many years 
he had been the pastor of the church. When the people 
rejoiced, he had unselfishly rejoiced with them, and 
when their homes had been darkened by sorrow he had 
sought them out and comforted them. He had never 
entertained a purely selfish motive. The wellfare of 
others always came first in all his thoughts and purposes. 
Whether the gentle, spice-laden breeze of popularity had 
blown softly and refreshingly upon him, or the fierce 
blasts of persecution had raged furiously around him, 
both alike resulted in making his life musical. He had 
been the Aeolian harp lying on the casement of the 
window — the window that opens heavenward. 

Yesterday the spirit of the good old man went away 


to make music with the angels on a harp of gold set with 
diamonds and all manner of precious stones, and to-day 
we buried the frail old body — the old harp he left he- 
hind. He would have no use for it in heaven. 


Like the rich cadences of an Aeolian harp, when it 
sings its sweetest strains, is the unselfish, consecrated 
life and labor of a servant of Jesus Christ — one of God's 
noblemen — in any land and among any people. Beauti- 
ful as the fabled song of the dying swan, is the closing 
scene and the parting words of the Apostle Paul as he 
bade the Ephesian elders adieu. It lingered like the 
music of an Aeolian harp touched by elesian breezes. 
May our lives always be as musical. 

— o — 

Bring flowers, white flow'rs for my hours of joy, 
For their dainty beauty will never cloy, 

They will speak of a world of light 
Where the angels gather around the throne 
And the Savior smiles on his loved and own 

In their raiment so pure and white. 

Bring flowers, white flow'rs when my hours are sad, 
And their dainty beauty will make me glad 

If they lie on my weary heart, 
For they speak of a quiet joy and peace 
Where sorrow and strife shall forever cease 

And the teardrops will never start. 

Venetian Flower Girl. 
From the Painting by Luke Fildes. 


Bring flowers, white flow'rs when my heart is still 
That their beauty fair may my dead hands fill 

Let their blossoms my hair entwine, 
They will tell of Heaven, of home and rest, 
As they lie so quietly on my breast 

In their perfume of love divine. 

Bring flowers, white flow'rs they are my heart's choice, 
For they ever speak with a gentle voice 

Of a beautiful home above; 
Yes, in life or death bring me flowers white 
With their dainty beauty of peace and light, 

And whispers of Heavenly love. 



Being Saved by Hope. 

We are saved by hope. — Rom. 8: 24 

The only son of a poor widow, disregarding her 
counsel and pra3'ers, went away from home, and in the 
course of time became a dissolute prodigal. All the 
people who knew him believed that he would never re- 
form, and were unanimous in their opinion that any 
further efforts to induce him to give up the sinful life he 
was living would be like casting pearls before swine. 
But there was one who daily prayed the prayer of faith 
for his deliverance. She confidently entertained the 
belief, during all the long, sad years of her life, that her 
boy would yet forsake his evil ways and live a correct 
life. Thus in the furnace of trial she was being con- 
stantly sustained and saved by hope. 

A beautiful young woman was, unfortunately, wedded 


to an intemperate man. She knew he drank, but be- 
Heved that "for her sake" he would give it up if she 
married him, as he had repeatedly assured her he would 
do. But, alas, poor, deluded woman ! When it was too 
late she realized that she was the helpless and unloved 
wife of a drunken, brutal husband, and her life was per- 
fectly miserable. Happiness had been a stranger to her 
aching heart almost from the day that, in the presence 
of God and chosen witnessess, she had said she would 
cherish, love and continue in faithfulness with him who 
had thereafter shown himself so unworthy of such de- 
votion. She eked out a miserable existance, and 
would have died of a broken heart long before she did if 
she had not been saved by hope. When that failed the 
spirit took its flight. 

A man in comfortable circumstances was reduced to 
poverty through no fault of his. The financial panic, 
that he could not avert, came, and his business and 
possessions were engulfed in the awful maelstrom and 
all was lost. Friends (!), who had been profited by their 
friendship (?) and the unselfish assistance he had rendered 
them in the days of his prosperity, forsook him in the 
time of his adversity, when their frienship could be no 
longer financially profitable to them. "Misfortunes 
never come singly." Death entered his home and re- 
moved the wife of his youth, leaving him to be both 
father and mother to the children not yet old enough to 
render any material assistance in keeping from the door 
of their humble home the gaunt wolves that prowled 
about with annoying frequency seeking the last morsel 
of food. His lot in life was indeed a hard one, but 


hope, — that cheering star of the future — shed its gracious 
light upon his ru^^ged pathway, and saved him and his 
motherless little ones from greater evils and severer 

There had been a "cave in" at the mine and one of 
the workmen had been imprisoned in one of the "lower 
levels." All means of escape had been cut off, and 
there was no way of reaching the unfortunate man 
except by sini^ing a new "shaft" through the fiinty 
granite, and this would take many days. But willing 
men went energetically to work to effect his rescue. 
They worked systematically by "relays," each relay of 
miners working a short "shift" with all possible energy 
and efficiency, that they might if possible reach their 
fellow-laborer before he perished. As the work con- 
tinued day and night without interruption the imprisoned 
miner could hear the reports of the "shots" as the 
blasts were exploded and he knew they were endeavor- 
ing to effect his release, and, fully realizing the arduous 
task, wondered if he would be able to hold out till they 
could reach him, or would they conclude that he could 
not live and discontinue the work ? Thus in his sub- 
terranean dungeon, during the long period of his con- 
finement, the miner was saved by hope till his rescue 
was accomplished. 

There had been a long period of drought. The 
mountain streams, that had afforded a bountiful supply 
of water for irrigation, were dry, and the artesian wells, 
that had always furnished a full hundred or more 
"miner's inches" of water, had ceased to "flow." So 
little rain had fallen for months that the "rangfes" were 


absolutely barren and the cattle and sheep starving. 
The newly-sown barley was dying on account of lack of 
moisture, and many of the orchards would perish during 
the summer if it did not rain copiously. The outlook 
never was so discouraging before, for the ''rainy season" 
was almost over and the rain-fall had been far below the 
normal amount, and the weather forecasts were unfavor- 
able. But as day after day passed and the sky remained 
cloundless the people continued to hope — and now they 
are rejoicing, for rain has already fallen in torrents and 
more is predicted. If hope did not cause the rain it 
saved the people from despondency and desperation. 

An only child three thousand miles from home, a 
stranger in a great city, while in college busily engaged 
in fitting himself for the active duties of life, was stricken 
down by disease. The messages of love that he had 
been so careful to transmit with such commendable 
faithfulness and regularity failed to reach his parents in 
the far west, and they became anxious about him, and 
then, as the days went by and no message came, serious- 
ly alarmed. One day a letter, written in a strange hand, 
was received bearing the sad intelligence that ''your son 
is in the hospital sick with typhoid fever." For days 
and weeks the unequal battle was fought with the dread 
destroyer, and while the conflict between health and 
disease was being waged the fond mother and proud 
father of the boy were saved from deeper sorrow by 
hope — that hope that comes from and is predicated in 
God. And when the Great Physician raised him up 
again, hope was superceded by thanksgiving and praise. 

Morning Prayer. 
From the Painting by Meyer Von Bremen. 

hope's promise. 265 


We may not recognize or acknowledge the fact, but 
we are nevertheless, many times saved by hope. Let 
us therefore thank God for having endowed us with this 
sustaining faculty of the soul, and often admonish our- 
selves and one another, as the Psalmist advises, to 

**hope thou in God. 


While the life of a man 
Moveth smoothl)' along, 

And his walks lie apart 

From the sorrowing throng. 

He may coolly decry 

Faith's "unreasoning prayer' 
And assert with a calm, 

Philosophidal air, 

That the grave is the sum 
Of humanity's gains — 

The reproach and reward 
For its pleasures and pains; 

But Philosophy flees 

From the presence of Woe 
Like an ally abashed 

In the face of the foe. 

O parent whose eyes 

Deathless longing revealed 

In that glance ere by Death 
They were silently sealed; 


O babe that has passed 
To the Presence above, 

Art thou gone for all time 
From the pressure of love ? 

And thou who wast more 
Than all mortals else dear, 

Art thou lost to the soul 

That was one with thee here ? 

Ah ! 'tis false; sophist turn 
From the lowly that grieve, 

But the Father sends hope 
Unto them that believe. 

And their hearts in the years 

They thereafter abide 
Are the sweeter because 

Of Hope's promise inside. 


Unsought Knowledge Imparted. 

Be not wise in thine own eyes. — Prov. 3: 7. 

In winter of '89 I was preaching for the church in 
W , my first pastorate. 

As I was going along the street one day towards the 
latter part of December, about noon, the rain pouring 
down in torrents and not a rift in the clouds, a Jew, 
with whom I had a slight aquaintance, the proprietor of a 
* 'shoddy" clothing store, remarked as I passed, "I guess 
we'll see a rainbow pretty soon." 

I made no direct reply, but thought how ignorant he 
must be, and if it had not been that I believed him to be 


incorrigibly stupid and utterly incapable of receiving in- 
struction I would have given him a free lecture on the 
laws of physics in general and on those relating to the 
formation of rainbows in particular. I would have 
explained to him the nature of light, and shown him 
how a rainbow is formed by the decomposition, reflection 
and refraction of light. I would have expounded to him 
the inalienable law of physics and of nature that * 'the 
angle of incidence and the angle of reflection are equal 
to each other," and I would have shown him how, in 
harmony with this law, the rays of light coming from the 
midday sun could not possibly form a rainbow, on 
account of the sun at noon being too high in the heavens. 
And I would have affirmed the absolute necessity for 
there being strong, clear sunlight to form a rainbow, 
and have reminded him that the entire heavens were 
overcast with clouds. But I knew he could not ap- 
preciate what I might say. It would, I felt certain, 
only be time wasted to make a learned and lengthy 
disquisition on these things for his especial benefit and 
enlightenment. To do so would only be like "Casting 
pearls, etc." So I walked on slowly toward home, some 
seven or eight blocks away, meditating upon the lack of 
wisdom some people display. 

Half way home I noticed, notwithstanding my reverie, 
that it was growing perceptibly lighter, though it was 
still raining quite hard, and before I reached my door 
the sun burst through a rift in the clouds and formed, 
against the green foot-hills and snow-capped mountains 
directly in the north, one of the most beautiful rainbows 
I had ever se^n, 



''Be not wise in thine own eyes," for if you are you 
will most certainly expose your ignorance, render your- 
self rediculous, and be chagrined at your own folly. 


The oak tree rears its stately head, 

Defiant, proud and stern; 
While under neath, the fragile flower 

Bends 'neath the angry storm. 

The tempest o'er the drooping flower 

Uplifts a smiling face; — 
The shattered oak lies low, bereft 

Of beauty, strength and grace. 


The Architect of a Famous Building, 

— o — 

I am forgotten as a dead man out of mind.— Ps. 31: 12. 

Fronting on one of the principle thoroughfares of a 
great city in one of the eastern states there stands a 
modest two story building, of a rather peculiar style of 
architecture, that has more than a national reputation. 
Thousands of people from all parts of the United States, 
and many from foreign lands, visit it every year. To a 
truly patriotic American it is like a Mohammedan's 
pilgrimage to Mecca, or a devout Jew's return to 
Jerusalem, to be permitted to journey thither and, 
crossing the threshold of this antique structure, stand 


within the half-sacred edifice. There are hundreds of 
buildings in this great metropolis that are more beauti- 
ful than this one, with all of its colonial quaintness, and 
quite as large a number represent a much greater outlay 
of money for their construction than does this one of 
ordinary brick with stone and marble "trimmings," but 
none of them attract as much attention as this one does. 
Its attractiveness is due to the fact that its walls echoed 
the voice of Washington, Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, 
Hancock and many others of our patriotic forefathers, 
when in convention assembled they deliberated upon 
matters of great national importance — grappled with 
gigantic governmental and economic problems and solved 
them — for this building is ''Independence Hall," 
Philadelphia, which, the visitor is informed by a tablet 
or inscription on the wall, *'was occupied by the Legis- 
lature of Pennsylvania 1736 to 1799; the Suprime Court 
1743 to 1775; and the Congress of the Union 1775 to 
1 78 1." And here the most importent event in the 
history of the colonies took place July 4th, 1776. It is 
not strange therefore that this old building should have 
such a fascination for all patriotic and liberty-loving 

But probably not one person in a hundred of those 
who have visited it, and not one in a thousand of those 
who have not, can tell by whom or when this old build- 
ing was erected, though the architect's name is plainly 
inscribed on the tablet to which reference has been 
made, as is also the date when it was built. It reads as 
follows: * 'This building commenced 1732, A. U. C. 50, 
Andrew Hamilton, Architect and Superintendent." — 


But who is there that associates the name of x\ndrew 
Hamilton with Independence Hall ? Very, very few 


It is almost always thus, and it is well that it is so. 
While we may cherish a desire to live by name in the 
memory of our posterity it is much more important that 
we strive to achieve something that future generations 
will appriciate. 

The architect of ''Independence Hall" did his work 
well, and though he may be "forgotten as a dead man out 
of mind," so far as his name is concerned, yet his work 
lives and speaks eloquently of his ability and honesty. 
Let us endeavor to perform our part in life well so that 
succeeding generations shall be blessed by our labor. 
Nor should we anticipate with sadness the probability of 
our names being unknown. What difference shall it 
make to us when we "sleep with our fathers," whether 
our names are household words or not ? It is written of 
those who are faithful that "they rest from their labor, 
and their works do follow them." Do well thy part. 
"What thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." 

REWARD. 271 

— o — 

Why do I feel so bright and glad to-day ? 
"You've chased the shadows from some life away.*' 

Whence come this music that I seem to hear ? 
"The echo of your timely words of cheer." 

Why do my burdens seem as light as air ? 

"You've lightened some poor pilgrim's loajd of care." 

Why does each face to-day appear a friend's ? 
"Your kind deeds yesterday a radiance lends." 

'Tis love breeds joy; kind actions, round us shed, 
Return in blessings on the unselfish head. 



— O — 

'Tis dreams of golden harvests — 
The wealth of waving grain — 

That cheers the weary sower 
Who toils amid the rain. 

The prisoner in his dungeon 

Looks forth to being free, 
But can the hope he fondles 

Eclipse his liberty ? 

'Tis visions sweet of heaven 

That thrill the Christian's breast. 

But can the solace given 
Compare with endless rest ? 

The heart can never fathom 

Nor can ihe longing eyes 
Conceive the lasting pleasures 

The soul shall realize. 


For God's eternal justice 
Pervades too vast a scope 

To let the fruit of promise 
Be less than what we hope. 


Complex Circles. 

God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things. — i Jno. 3: 20 

In an attempt, neither planned nor premeditated, to 
amuse myself one day recently, I placed my compasses 
on a sheet of white paper, and drew, almost at random, a 
great many circles of various sizes, and sustaining divers 
relations to each other, all being bounded by and in- 
closed within one large cirle. When I had ceased my 
aimless, absent-minded diversion, I saw that I had un- 
intentionally and undesignedly illustrated some important 
truths pertaining to the acquisition and possession of 

I observed that there was a center around which — 
and everywhere equidistant from it — the circumference 
of each circle had been traced. This point, exactly in 
the center of the circle, represented to me the individual- 
ity — that stationary, natural or instinctive, perhaps I 
may say axiomatic wisdom, or capacity for receiving 
knowledge — that every rational person possesses, and 
about which all knowledge subsequently acquired is 
grouped, and to which it is directly or indirectly 

I saw that there were quite a number of series of 
concentric circles that had been traced from a common 


center, indicating to my mind that the knowledge pos- 
sessed by each person belonging to a particular family or 
class is substantially the same, differing only in degree or 
extent; that it had originated from a common source, 
and proceeded in the same direction in each case along 
oft-traveled thoroughfares. The lack of originality in the 

acquisition of knowledge is, to my mind, a lamentable 
fact. Old straw is being repeatedly threshed. 

I noticed, too, that in some of the series the circles 
were within each other, and all touched together at one 
common point on their circumferences, and that each 
circle had a different center. This represented that 
there may be absolute agreement in the minds of many 
touching some one thing about which they all have 


knowledge, but differing widely on many other points. 
And that if they ever come to a mutual understanding 
they must first have a common center around which 
facts are to be collected concerning these things about 
which they now disagree. 

I also observed that many of the circles intercepted 
each othter, so that there were arcs and segments of all 
sizes, including a corresponding amount of the surfaces 
within the circles cut off by the two or more intercepting 
circles that had, of course, to interfere with each other, 
been drawn from different centers. 

Thus I perceived how discussions and disputes arise 
between persons concerning some phases of knowledge. 
It is over territory for which a double entry has been 
made. Each person, occupying a different position 
from which he begins to make the survey of the field of 
knowledge to establish his right to some part of it, natu- 
rally looks upon others who arrive at substantially the 
same conclusions from different and sometimes appar- 
ently opposite positions as usurpers and trespassers. 
They forget that all truth is harmonious. 

Then again I saw that the centers of some of the 
smaller circles were where the circumferences of other 
and larger ones were, and that those, with much smaller 
radi, extended further from the original center than the 
circumference of the larger circle was from it. So the 
progressive nature of knowledge was made apparent to 
my mind, when its aquisition is being sought by a 
specialist. Although he may not be as learned in many 
ways as those were or are whom he surpasses in his- 
chosen profession, yet by giving all his attention to one 


branch of knowledge he goes beyond those who have a 
much more extended general knowledge. 

Again, I saw that the circumferences of some of the 
circles were broken in many places and very indistinct 
in others, just as the boundary line of the knowledge 
many people would like to make others believe they are 
possessed of, is sadly wanting. They do not know how 
far it is to where they do not know. They are not 
conscious at any time of having passed the actual 
boundry of their knowledge. They are self-opinionated 
and presumptions, but not wise, except in their own 
estimation. From such may we ever be delivered. 

And last of all I noted, as at the beginning, that a 
large, well-defined circle enclosed all others, which can 
only signify that "God is greater than our heart, and 
knoweth all things. " 



Forever in the heavens Lord, 

The stars thy will perform; 
The rushing floods have heard thy word; 

Obedient is the storm. 

All nature thrills wi h thought of thee, 

Thou only Good and Wise ! 
And vast as is eternity, 

Thy love that never dies. 

Wm. K. Palmer. 


Foul Streams Cleansed, 

That he might redeem us from iniq.uity, and purify unto 

himself a peculiar people. — Tit. 2: 14. 

Yesterday it rained. The water rushed down the 
mountains in perfect torrents, and every baranca, and 
arroyo, and gulch, that had for months been as dry as 
powder, suddenly became raging rivers. Muddy streams 
poured into the ocean till its waters, usually so clear 
and beautiful, were made quite turbid. That was 

Ceaselessly the great swells of the mighty ocean 
rolled landward, and the waves broke upon the sandy 
beach, as they have ever done since sea and land have 
occupied the same relative positions. Constantly night 
and day the tide ebbed and flowed, and the breakers 
charged repeatedly upon the shore, like a great army of 
white-plumed soldiers storming, in solid phalanx, some 
grim old fortress, only to be repulsed each time they 
attempted to scale the walls, and as often renewing the 

Today the storm is over, and the streamlets that run, 
laughing, from the adjacent mountains to meet the sea 
are as clear as crystal. The ocean too has assumed its 
usual clearness, where yesterday the muddy streams 
flowed into it. From the end of the long wharf yonder, 
that extends out into the harbor, you may look far down 
into its mysterious depths, now freed from every trace 


of the impurities that poured into t so short a time ago. 
This is today. 


The storm of commingled iniquity and retribution on 
the "high places" of evil has caused a deluge of penitence 
and godly sorrow, and flowing by repentance — in obedi- 
ence to the immutable law of moral gravitation — back to 
God, is the polluted stream of sinful humanity, "that 
he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto 
himself a peculiar people," And God can, and does, 
purify the unrighteous, who come penitently to him, 
just as the majestic ocean — fit emblem of Omnipotence 
— purifies and assimilates the water of the polluted 
streams that flow into it. Blessed assurance ! 



Out in the rain and the sleet. 

Driven by the pitiless storm 
Through the dark village street 

Wanders a pitiful form, 
Hunger has made her wild, 

Fever has crazed her brain, 
And she thinks she is a child 

Playing at home in the lane ! 
She thinks she hears her mother 

Tap on the window-pane, 
Calling her httle daughter 

In from the cold and the rain. 

Out in the storm and the night. 

Shelterless, freezing and lone, — 
Pity her, fallen there, 

Her only pillow a stone. * * * 
In the morning they found her lying 

With ice-drops in her hair, 
And her face had grown, in dying. 

Most strangely young and fair, 
Sweetly her lips were smiling, 

They had lost their look of pain; 
The tender Father had called her 

In from the night and the rain. 



Mountain and Valley. 

Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord. — Isa. 2: 3. 
There had been no rain in the valley for months, and 
scarcely a cloud had been seen. Occasionally a pale, 
fugitive, half-scared fragment of light, airy vapor would 
be forced by a breeze over the mountains to be evapor- 
ated by the intense heat of the sun without a drop of 
water reaching the earth. The thermometer registered 
day after day from 100 to iio degrees in the shade at 
midday, and sometimes even higher. Water for irri- 
gation was very scarce. The pastures were parched and 
bare as compared with what they had been earlier in the 
season. The streets and roads were long streaks of hot 
dust that, upon the slightest suggestion of a breeze, sent 
up large quantities of powdered alluvium, salt and alkali, 
that filled eyes, ears, mouth and lungs, making life al- 
most unendurable. To perform either intellectual or 
physical labor required a constant exercise of will power, 
and that of the heroic kind. 

Round about the valley stood the mountains, like 
ever vigilant sentinels or tantalizing specters. Outlined 
against the northeastern sky was the "Four Peaks," and 
beyond was "Bill William's Peak," and the San Fran- 
cisco mountains covered with feathery pines and wide- 
spreading live oaks — just the place for squirrels, moutain 
quail, wild turkeys, Sonora pigeons, mountain trout and 
"campers." We who were sweltering in the valley knew 
that it was pleasant in the mountains — higher up." 


Those who live in the valleys of worldliness and 


sinful folly, ekein^ out a miserable existence, should be 
reminded that it is pleasant "higher up." Amid the 
mountains of purity and the uplands of righteousness 
life is worth living. There joy is a perpetual benediction. 
"Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the 


"And the strength of the hills is His also." 

Lift me, O Lord, above the level plain, 

Beyond the cities where life throbs and thrills, 

And in the cool air let my spirit gain 

The stable strength and courage of Thy hills. 

They are Thy secret dwelling-places. Lord ! 

Like Thy majestic prophets, old and hoar, 
They stand assembled in divine accord. 

Thy sign of 'stablished power forevermore. 

Here peace finds refuge from ignoble wars, 

And faith, triumphant, builds in snow and rime, 

Near the broad highways of the greater, stars, 
Above the tide-line of the seas of time. 

Lead me yet farther. Lord, to peaks more clear, 
Until the clouds like shining meadows lie, 

Where through the deep of silence I may hear 
The thunder of Thy legions marching by. 




Whenever thou hast drawn apart 

From all the cares and petty strife, 
That vex the mind and wring the heart, 

To fit the soul for higher life; 
Hast thou not felt within thy breast 

A joy most holy and profound, 
That quiets all the deep unrest, 

And spreads a rapturous peace around ? 

Thou knowest it well. At evening close. 

Thy labors ended for the day, 
When humbly, ere thou sought repose. 

Thou hast turned to God to pray; 
Then, ere thy full petitions cease. 

Over thy soul, before so sad. 
Has stolen this sweet sense of peace, 

And made thy drooping spirit glad. 

Tis God's own presence that we feel. 

The presence of the Eternal One. 
He draweth near when mortals kneel 

To humbly say, "Thy will be done." 
Oh God, will all our life with Thee 

Be like unto this taste of bliss ? 
Will all the years that are to be, 

Be full of peacefulness like this ? 



A Wise Decision, 

I have planted, ApoUos watered; but God gave the increase. — i Cor. 3: 6, 

Four boys raised a crop of corn. James plowed the 
ground, William planted the seed, Thomas cultivated 
the soil, and Samuel harvested the crop. Thanksgiving 
day they quarreled, each of the boys affirming that the 
corn in the granary was his. An appeal was finally 
taken to their father to settle the "rights of property." 

The father first heard the impassioned address of 
James who declared that he had plowed the ground, and 
that there could not have been an ear of corn grown 
without this being done. The crop was his. Then 
William made a stirring plea based on the fact that he 
had planted the seed at exactly the right season, there- 
fore the corn in the bin legitimately belonged to him. 
Thomas was very positive that there would not have 
been any corn to harvest if he had not properly cultiva- 
ted the soil. Unquestionably the corn was his. It was 
only the natural result of his labor. Last of all Samuel 
stated and argued his claim. He had gathered the 
jipened corn, which would have remained in the field 
and been wasted if it had not been for his timely and 
well-directed industry. Certainly the corn was his. 

Then the father, as judge, rendered his decision. He 
said, ' 'My sons, you are all wrong. The corn, safely 
stored in the granary, does not belong exclusively to any 
one of you. You have all been entirely too exclusive 
and partial in your views of the whole matter. You 
have excluded God entirely, and only recognized tacitly 
if at all, what each of you did in producing the harvest^ 


Among other things that God did, he gave and main- 
tained the vitahty of the seed; caused the proper condi- 
tions of heat, moisture and plant food; gave you the 
abihty to determine the time for planting the seed and 
the best methods for cultivating the soil, and the strength 
to do the work that each of you performed; and God gave 
the increase — partly through your instrumentalily, it is 
true, but without his blessing and cooperation your labor 
would have been in vain. It is my decision, therefore, 
that you "share and share alike" the corn that was pro- 
duced by your combined and cooperative efforts, giving 
God praise that he gave the increase. 

The father's wise and impartial decision was accepted 
by all the boys as correct. They asked and received 
each other's forgiveness for the hasty words that had 
been spoken and spent the remainder of the day thank- 
ful and happy. 


Unfortunately the view we take of many things is 
entirely too selfish and circumscribed. We give our- 
selves too much credit and others too little, and frequently 
give God none at all. And this is sometimes sadly true 
of those whose combined efforts have resulted succes- 
fully in bringing men and women to Christ. He has the 
right spirit who can honestly say with Paul, **I have 
planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase," 
thus rendering to all their dues. 



As I sat oqe morn at my leisure, 

Intent on reading a book, 
I heard the patter of little feet, 

And a sweet voice said, "Dest look !" 

I raised my eyes and before me saw 
Our own little brown-eyed boy; 

His chubby white hands full of roses, 
And his face aglow with joy. 

"Me brought '00 some nice fowers mamma,' 

He said with a graceful air; 
And I clasped him close to my bosom. 

And caressed his sunny hair. 

"How thoughtful of you, little sweetheart, 

To bring me these roses red; 
I wonder how came you to do it ?" 

"Why, tause I love '00," he said. 

As I held my fair boy still closer, 
And kissed the dear face so sweet, 

I heard on the floor of the kitchen. 
The patter of other feet. 

And soon there was framed in the door-way 

A starry-eyed laughing mite: 
Who also brought me an offering, 

Though quite hidden from my sight. 

"Mamma," lisps he, "Mamma, 00, 00, 00," 
And then from his hand he thrust 

Onto the table covering white. 

His gifts — tbcy were chips and dust. 

But oh ! the face that was turned to mine 

Was so full of love and pride, 
I clasped him, too, in a fond embrace, 

And sat him by brother's side. 



















l^^^^^^^^^^m ' '^ 













V *» 






Morning Prayer. 
From the paintiDg by £. Munier. 

CORN. 2^5 

And I thought as I held my darlings, 

Of that good Father above, 
Who has for each and every child, 

Far more than a mother's love. 

And I said, "Is it not the same" — 
And at this my eyes grew dim, 

"When we bring to his feet our ofiferings, 
Prompted by true love for Him ?" 

"When we bring to Him our very best, 
When we come with child-like trust, 

Does it matter if it be roses. 
Or only the chips and dust ?" 

• 'And swift there came to my memory, 

This thought of His book, a part, 

* Though man may look at the outer things. 

Our Father looks on the hearty 




Dipping, tipping to the breezes 

With a native grace inborn. 
And an attitude that pleases 

See the fields of waving corn. 
Shimm'ring in the sunlight's glory, 

Shriv'ring 'neath the rain-drop's fall. 
Breathing still the old, old, story 

That is understood by all. 

Plenty smiles in ev'ry crinkle. 

Breathes upon each rush of air 
That has set the blades a-twinkle 

Stirred the silk upon the ear, 
And the prophecy of June-day, 

That's in remembrance still, 
Autumn's night and autumn's noon-day 

Will be certain to fulfill. 



Clouds Without Water. 

"Clouds without water." — Jude 12. 

Droughty June ! Droughtier July ! The sky was 
like brass, and the relentless summer sun poured his 
fierce rays with awful effect upon every animate object. 
The long rows of corn, stunted and starving for water, 
obeying the first law of nature — that of self-preservation 
— rolled their slender leaves into so man}^ spears to 
ward off as best they could the legions of charging, 
withering, super-heated sunbeams, and stood thus in 
solid phalanx silently praying for water. The meadows 
on a thousand hills were brown and dead on account of 
the long-continued drought, and the cattle grew thinner 
and poorer each day as they fed upon the scanty supply 
of parched grass the pastures afforded. The thirsty birds 
congregated about the few remaining springs and at 
vesper sang with plaintive retrospection of sparkling 
dews, gentle rains, laughing rivulets, and babbling 

The streets and lanes were transformed by the in- 
cessant drought into long streaks of hot dust that rose 
in stifling clouds as men and animals passed over them. 
Even the hardy trees of the forest had assumed a yellow- 
ish, sickly hue which plainly indicated a lack of mois- 

"Water!" was the dissyllabic prayer of the famishing 
everywhere that three times a day, and at frequent 
irregular intervals ascended heavenward. Sometims, 
during the drought, there were indications, so the weather 
prophets affirmed, that augured favorably for rain, but 


ball player and prize fighter to the professional * 'divine 
healer" and revivalist — a professional evangelist of" wide 
reputation" on some account — though no person who 
had heard of his **fame" could tell to save his soul from 
pergatory, upon what his "wide reputation" was founded 
— it was learned by some one who had seen an item to 
that effect in a leading denominational or undenomin- 
ational paper, was "available for a series of revival 
meetings if his invaluable services were engaged at 

No time was to be lost. The opportunity of a life- 
time had presented itself. The prayers of the faithful 
had been heard. If they would act promtly now show- 
ers of blessings were sure to fall upon the famishing 
church. How good the Lord had been, or was about to 
be, to his people ! 

The services of the renowned evangelist were en- 
gaged without a moment of unnecessary delay, and on 
schedule time he preached his initial sermon to a crowded 
house — for his reputation as a "drawing card" he had 
taken great pains to have precede him. The discourse, 
like those by which it was followed, was a complex 
combination of egotism, wit, eulogism, burlesque, sarcasm 
and depreciation, with occasionally a little Scripture and 
common-sense sandwitched between. His sermons were 
all highly eulogistic — of the ' 'celebrated evangelist. Rev. 
Paul Barnabas Apollos, of No. i Revival avenue, 
Jerusalem, your exalted servant." He told of his great 
success everywhere in "moving the people," of the 
numerous "calls" he had received to minister to large 
and wealthy congregations, and of the hosts of friends 


none came. Clouds appeared occasionally but soon 
passed away without precipitating any moisture. One 
day the indications were more favorable for rain than 
they had been for a long time, in fact since the drought 
begun they had not appeared so promising, and wise- 
looking prognosticators confidently predicted ' 'falling 
weather." The signal service office displayed the **rain 
flag." "Old Probs," the chief of the prophets, had 
jeoparadized his reputation for veracity by affirming from 
the house-tops — aye, and from above them — that it 
would rain soon, and great was the joy of all throughout 
the entire drought stricken district. Clouds appeared on 
schedule time. The sky was entirely overcast. Relief for 
the famishing was at hand ! But no rain came, and the 
next morning the sun cast his fierce rays upon the parched 
earth just as he had done every day for weeks, and the 
despairing cry of the suffering for water was more pitiful 
than it had ever been at any time during the long drought, 
for they remembered that there had been, and might be 
again, * 'clouds without water. " 


The church was not in florishing condition. Spiritual 
life was sadly lacking on the part of almost all the 
members. To be plain, an awful dearth of righteous- 
ness had prevailed for a long time, of which a few of the 
faithful ones had been fully and painfully conscious, and 
they had been praying earnestly for refreshing showers 
from the presence of the Lord — for a revival of piety 
and evangelism. 

A "professional evangelist" — there are all sorts of 
"professionals" now-a-days from the professional base 


and acquaintances he had made among the wealthy and 
influential men of the nation, because he had incessantly 
sought opportunities to do so wherever and whenever it 
had been possible. He frequently gave detailed and 
glowing descriptions of the * 'Exceptionally bright and 
interesting" children of which he was the distinguished 
father, and spoke in unstinted praise of his ** charming 
wife" who had been appointed to the presidency of a 
'•Mutual Admiration Society" — though who composed 
the society, or by whom the appointment had been made 
he did not explain, further than to say that they were 
"all prominent people," leaving the audience to guess of 
what their prominence consisted. Then he paid his 
' 'respects" to the membership of the churches in general 
and of that congregation particularly in no compli- 
mentary manner, and spoke especially of the meager 
talents and corresponding ineiBciency of pastors and 
evangelists generally — there could only be one original, 
and it was not possible for any copy to equal "the 
evangelist without a model and without a shadow — 
your condescending servant !" 

Throughout the entire series of sermons there was 
much emphasis laid on the personal pronouns of the first 
person, their antecedent, and the words and phrases that 
qualified them. 

The meeting closed in over-due time. There had 
been a score or more "converts" to something or some- 
body, but to which or what no person could tell, and the 
faithful ones in the church said one to another in 
proverbs, "Clouds without water!" 


Let it be distinctly understood that nothing in this 
sermon is meant to apply in the remotest degree to the 
scores of earnest, faithful, self-sacrificing men of God 
who, as evangelists, are going from place to place 
preaching the Gospel. May their numbers be greatly 
increased, then we shall have many seasons of refreshing 
from the Lord's presence in the churches where there is 
now a dearth of righteousness and spirituality. 


There is a greater greatness than that which 

Sounds a clarion and builds monuments. 

Courage, oh, soul ! In mighty deeds thy name 

May not be writ, but in the silences 

Thou mayest help on the unfolding of God's plans. 

The stro7igest forces of the universe 

Move softly as the stars and suns. 



Led by a Little Child. 

, A little child shall lead them — Is. ii: 6. 

...Dr. S j ^ a Christian physicion of L , Ky. , 

drawing upon his repertory of varied experiences as a 
i|a€4i(^b#ractitioner, once related the following pathetic 

srft&me years ago, he said, I had a patient, who was 
also, my. neighbor, who had what I knew to be an in- 
curable affection of the throat. We lived quite near 
each other, arid I frequently dropped in to see him. He 

Madonna and Child. 
From the Painting by A. Elbert. 


was an exemplary Christian, but his wife, though a good 
woman, made no rehgious profession whatever. Their 
only child was a sweet little girl live or six years of age. 
One day I saw that my patient was failing rapidly, and 
informed him that he could not live but a short time. 
Very early the next morning little Mary, the daughter, 
came alone to my house. I met her at the door, and 
she said, 

"Mr. S , please come to our house right quick. 

My papa is asleep and mamma can't wake him, and 
mamma says she has such a pain in her heart, and she 
is crying — her heart is hurting her so bad. Come as 
quick as ever you can. " 

I knew very well what had occurred, and I said, 
**Dear child, I can not awaken your papa nor cure your 
mamma's aching heart. Go back to your mamma and 

tell her that Dr. S , says she should now call on the 

Great Physician. Tell her that he is the only one who 
can cure her heart." 

The little one looked into my face with an anxious, 
inquiring gaze, and asked eagerly, "Who is the Great 
Physician, and where does he liv(j ? I will go for him. I 
can find him if you will tell me where he lives. Mamma's 
heart is so sore. " 

"No, child," I replied, "you can not find him, I fear. 

Run home and tell your mamma that Dr. S says for 

her to call on the Great Physician, and also tell her that 
I will come soon." 

She hurried rapidly away, and in a few minutes, when 
I called, I found that little Mary had delivered my 


message, and that her mother had sought and found 
reHef for her broken heart by going to the all-sufficiant 
Savior. She became a noble Christian woman. 


How often it has happened that fathers and mothers 
are induced to call on the Great Physician by the prattling 
invitation of a little child when all other means have 

If there is a father or mother who reads this who is 
not a Christian, will you not allow your little child — it 
may be a child removed from earth, and now standing 
with beautiful, beckoning hands at the gateway of heaven 
— to lead you to Christ ? Remember that the Great 
Physician — "the sympathising Jesus" — is ahvays near. 
Let the tiny hand of your child place your hand in that 
of the Savior that he may lead you all the way. God 
grant that it shall be so now. Amen. 


— o — 

The noonday is past and my spinning is done; 

And now in my corner I sit in the sun 
And watch the white road that goes winding away 

Across the blue hills to the gates of the day, 
Where the pink baby clouds lie dimpled and curled, 

And the golden-rod blooms on the edge of the world. 
I measure the shadows in heaven's blue dome, 

And wait for the night, when the children come home ! 

Love Dream. 
From the Painting by W. J. Martens. 


There is some one who places a stool for my feet, 

And straightens my cap with a word soft and sweet; 
But I fret at her touch — for the day is so long 

Till the children come in with their laughter and song. 
She says she is Marjory; but she is old — 

And is gray — and my Marjory's hair is like gold 
In the sun; and her heart is as light as the foam — 

You shall see her to-night, when the children come home ! 

Then wee baby Elsie will wake from her nap, 

And come half awake to climb up in my lap. 
The quaint broken speech of her dear twisted tongue 

Is sweeter to me than all songs that were sung. 
No wonder she prattles of pixy or elf — 

Her people they are; she's a fairy herself ! 
I must weave me a story of brownie or gnome, 

To wile the long hour till the children come home. 

Then Hugh, with his wild boyish talk of the sea. 

Will come whistling over the meadows to me 
From the fern-margined brook that runs down at the farm — 

With his little toy ship tucked under, in his arm. 
And sometimes they tell me with quivering lip, 

Of a captain named Hugh, who went down with his ship ! 
Of a sailor whose one truant thought was to roam — 

But my boy will be here, when the children come home. 

I listen no more to tbe stories they tell; 

I scarcely feel sorry, I know them so well, 
Behind me the sunset is ashen and rose; 

But my faith is the hills, where the golden-rod grows 
Straight into the sunrise ! So clear are my eyes 

I can see the bright jewels that wall Paradise ! 
I shall see, when the shadows stain heaven's clear dome, 

Across that blue pavement my children come home ! 




The Omniscient Student, 

Be not wise in your own conceits. — Rom. 12: 26. 

A college graduate, who was taking a post-graduate 
course at D University at the time, was once ex- 
plaining to an old man in my presence the utility and 
adaptability of various things in nature — "The Wonders 
of the Universe," as the student modestly expressed it. 
He tossed up comments, made a toboggan slide out of 
the rainbow, played hide and seek with the moon, 
soared away into space — so familiar had he become with 
evereything everywhere — came back to terra firma and 
began dessertation on fruit-trees generally and on the 
apple-tree in particular, suggested to his august mind, I 
presume, because we were in the orchard at that time. 

At last he exclaimed, in true sophomoric style, "Just 
think of it ! Apple seeds producing their kind ! Plant the 
seeds of a 'Red June' apple and you have 'Red June' 
trees ! Plant 'Early Harvest' apple seeds and you will 
have 'Early Harvest' trees ! Wonderful } Wonderful 1" 

The young man with his kite, drawing wisdom from 
the skies for the old man's enlightenment, had touched 
the earth, and the old man, who had never had such an 
opportunity before in his life to receive so much in- 
formation for nothing, interposed an objection. "Young 
man," said he, "I don't know anything about them 
ghost stories you've been a tellin' about the sideral — he 
meant the siderial — heavens; and the wonders of science 
and sich like, but you're off about apple-trees. An 
'Early Harvest' apple seed don't perduce an 'Early 


Harvest' tree, nor other kind of an apple-seed the same 
kind of a tree." 

The young student was greatly surprised at the old 
man's ignorance and incredulity, and so expressed him- 
self. A discussion followed, and they took appeal to me 
to act as umpire, as there was no one else present, which 
I did, and as **the gentleman of the jury" brought in a 
verdict against the young man, much to his chagrin. He 
had the argument in the case, I was free to admit, but 
the facts were against him. This I had learned when a 
small boy by experience. It was in this way: 

In my father's old orchard there were three or four 
"Red June" apple trees, the pride and joy of my boyish 
heart, appetite and heart being synonymous. The apples 
these trees bore were beautiful to look upon and delicious 
to the taste. I used to think the parent tree had g^rown 
in the Garden of Eden, for Eve said of the fruit of a 
certain tree that it was "good for food and pleasant to 
the eyes." So I longed to have a "Red June" tree for 
my very own. With this in view I selected several of 
the largest, plumpest seeds and planted them. My father 
told me they would not produce the same kind of trees, 
but I had arrived at the age when I was "wise in my 
own conceits," and would not believe him. I thought 
that might have been the case when he was a boy, but 
that was a long time ago, and conditions had changed. 

From the seeds planted I got one thrifty, strong- 
growing tree. The others were dwarfed and thorny. I 
transplanted this superior specimen of "seedling trees" 
— as my father persisted in calling them, notwithstanding 
I affirmed they were "young June trees" — into "my 


garden, " a small plot of ground planted promiscuously 
to all sorts of shrubs, trees, vines and vegetables that 
my childish fancy suggested, where I could give it the 
care that it deserved. The tree grew like a young 
banyan tree, though it did not look quite like a "Red 
June" tree. Finally one spring, three or four years 
after it had been transplanted, there were a few blossoms 
and one apple "set" on the young tree. I watched it 
with great interest, and increasing skepticism. The old 
"June" tree had ripened their crops of fruit that year 
but my "Red June" was as green as ever. It hung 
there till late in the fall without a tinge of color coming 
to its countenance, if an apple have countenance. I 
knew by this time that it was not a "Red June," for the 
apple was not red and October was not June, but just 
what name to give it I did not know. I regretted very 
much to call it a "seedling," as my father had suggestt;d, 
so I concluded to "sample" it, as perhaps that would 
suggest a suitable name. This I did with all the show 
of wisdom that a committee at a horticultural fair could 
manifest. The flavor of that apple is in my mouth now 
as I am preparing this sermon, though that was more 
than thirty years ago ! A wild crab-apple that had never 
had any cultivation, and never been called a ' 'Red June" 
by a boy who knew more than his father, would have 
been a credit to that apple. After that experience I was 
no longer wise in "my own conceits" concerning the 
propagation of "Red June" apple-trees. So, remember- 
ing my lesson, I could do nothing but decide against the 
conceited young college student. 



Humility is the first lesson the sincere seeker after 
knowledge should learn, and the last one he should for- 
get. It is a great advantage in the acquisition of any 
kind of knowledge for one to know that he does not 
know. Whoever is "wise in his own conceits" may 
easily become an iconoclastic bigot or an ecclesiastical 
egotist. The true disciple is content to sit meekly at 
the feet of age and experience. 



I once chanced to meet, 

With a friend down the street, 
Who of this one and that one, off-hand, 

In censure or praise. 

Spoke in his own phrase, 
As the case seemed to him to demand. 

I agreed in the main. 

When the language was plain; 
But I was much amazed when he said, 

With a wink of the eye. 

Of a man going by, n 
"That man has got wheels in his head !' 

"Got wheels in his head ?" 

That's just what he said. 

"Got wheels !" Yes, got wheels — 

Got wheels in his head. 

Have you ever seen 

A man-wheel-machine ? 
Since I've learned to what he referred; 

And if you will mind 

To my rhyme, you will find 
There lives not a crank, take my word, 


Known to you or to me, 

Though the wheels you don't see — 
They're there just the same as he said, 

Turning round, whizzling round, 

Though you hear not a sound, — 
And the man has got wheels in his head ! 

"Got wheels in his head ?" 

That's just what I said. 

•'Got wheels ?" Yes, got wheels — 

Got wheels in his head 

With this clue you discern, 

Wherever you turn; 
That these w^heels may differ in size, 

And in number also, 

And with different speed go, 
To conceal them one ardently tries, 

As the humor may be, 

While another, more free. 
Displays them, till it can't be gainsaid, 

That living for self — 

All the world on the shelf — 
That man has got wheels in his head. 

"Got wheels in his head. 

That's just w^hat I said. 

"Got wheels ?" Yes, got wheels — 

Got wheels in his head. 

One who struts as he w-alks. 
Of himself proudly talks, 

And he looks, through the telescope turn'd 
At humanity far. 
As at dim shining star. 

Yet boasts all the while how he learn'd — 
How a pessimist he, — 
"Could not otherwise be;" 

Like a lover, by jealousy led. 
He sees all awry 
Where beauties all lie, — 

That man has got wheels in his head. 


"Got wheels in his head ?" 
That's just what I said, 
"Got wheels ? Yes, got wheels — 
Got wheels in his head. 

There are juices which nourish, — 

There are treasures which perish; 
Strive for those, nor for these be cajoled 

For the man who has striven, 

All forgetful of heaven. 
Bought acres, filled barns, and dug gold 

Will prove in the end. 

When too late to amend, 
Like other fools, living or dead — 

He bewails his life lost, 

Too late counts the cost, — 
That man has got wheels in his head. 

''Got wheels in his head ?" 

That's just what I said, 
'Got wheels ?" Yes, got wheels — 

Got wheels in his head. 



Two Springs, 

There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, 
and that he should make his soul enjoy good — marginal rendering, 

"delight his senses" — in his labor This also is vanity and 

vexation of spirit. — Eccl. 2: 24, 26. 

I will very gladly spend and be spent for you. — 2 Cor. 12: 15. 

On the opposite sides of a high mountain there are 
two large, perennial springs that are supplied with pure, 
cold water by the melting snow that fills the canons and 
gorges above them. The streams that flow from these 
springs seem to have, to those who are possessed of 
vivid imaginations, the gift of speech. One streamlet 


invariably expresses the desire to live for purely selfish 
enjoyment. To ripple along through mosses and ferns, 
without any care or reponsibility, and to find at last 
some quiet place in the valley where, under the shade 
of protecting and wide-spreading trees, it can find peace 
— secluded peace, The other streamlet, as it goes on 
its way, expresses a decided preference for a life of 
activity and usefulness. Thus the two Httle streams 
glide along, each to have in the end just what it desires. 
After reaching the plain below the water from one of the 
springs is turned into a pool densely shaded by willow 
and other trees and there it becomes stagnant and filthy 
and is abhorred by both man and beast. The water 
from the other spring is diverted from its course to 
irrigate an orchard and a meadow and to supply water 
for domestic and other purposes. Every drop of it is 
utilized to bring blessings to others. 


These springs are the representatives of two opposite 
classes of people. One class, like the author of Ecclesi- 
astes, lives for the gratification of their senses. They 
have no thought for the wellfare or happines of others. 
The people who compose this class live selfishly, and 
when they come down to old age, and frequently long 
before that time, they become so disgusted with life that 
they exclaim, ''Vanity and vexation of spirit !" and settle 
down into utter misery and stagnated wretchedness for 
the remainder of their days. 

The other class, like the Apostle Paul, lives to bless 
others, and they grow old sweetly and beautifully — : 
happy in the knowledge that they are spending and 

CRUMBS. 301 

being spent to bring blessings to those who have been 
less favored then they have been. To which class shall 
we belong .? To which class do we belong .? 



*T was only a crumb, last evening, 

In a form of a kindly word, 
That I spoke to a weary companion; 

Only he and the dear Lord heard. 

*Twas only a pleasant "Good-morning" 

To one whose life is drear, 
But he understood its meaning, 

And knew that I meant to cheer. 

'Twas only a crumb at noonday. 

In the coin I gave to a child; 
But I gave for the sake of Jesus, 

And he understood and smiled. 

Twas only a crumb at evening 

When after a tiresome day 
I gave up my seat in the street-car 

To a woman old an gray. 

'Twas only a crumb at nightfall 

When instead of the concert hall, 
I went to the house of mourning 

To comfort and help them all. 

They're only crumbs, but without them 

There could not be any bread, 
And the bread shall be returned to us, 

For so the dear Lord has said. 




"Godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life 
that now is, and of that which is to come."' — 'i Tim. 4: 8. 
"Godliness with contentment is great gain." — i Tim. 6: 6. 

I thought, when I was a small boy, that from the 
top of some tall tree growing on the brow of the highest 
hill I could touch the sky, which was one of my childish 
ambitions, and would have been to me the greatest 
success, but the great difficulty was to reach my 
imaginary vantage point. If I could only scale the 
height, and climb to the topmost branches of some 
mighty giant of the forest, the rest would be easy enough. 
To place my hand against the clear, blue sky as I pres- 
sed it against the window-pane in my father's house — 
that would be the greatest success ! I could not realize 
my desire then, but when I became a man — but alas, 
long before I became a man the sky had been lifted far 
above the tops of the tallest trees, and it is further away 
to-day than ever before — and so also is the realization 
of my childish day-dreams. 


It is almost universally believed that if a person would 
be successful he must, by some means climb up — up — 
up. Some of those who seek success have read, and 
others have heard, "That every good gift and every 
perfect gift is from above." Then certainly the goddess 
who rewards the successful aspirant has her dwelling- 
place somewhere above. To reach the abode of the 
fickle goddess, who is supposed to crown her votaries — 
when they find her — with the emblem of success, has 


called forth the inventive genius of multitudes, and 
exercised the patience of many more. 

It is thought by many that the apex of the pyramid 
of wisdom is where the reward will be bestowed. To 
them true success and perfect knowledge are equivalent; 
so, step by step, the ascent is made — but who knows, 
for none have yet reached the top of the pyramid that 
pierces the clouds of ignorance by which it is forever 

Others believe the crown of wild olive will be 
placed on their brows by this fair goddess if they can 
only scale the barren, ice-clad peaks of the * 'Society 
Mountains." Therefore, amid eternal snow, and cold, 
and storm, and avalanche they toil on only to receive 
instead of the wreath of olive — beautiful emblem of 
peace — a crown of cruel cacti. Hope turned to ashes; 
the greated anticipated success, a disastrous failure. 

Again the attempt is made. This time the elevator 
goes up to the tenth story of a majestic bulding on 
Broadway, the door opens, and you are admitted into a 
richly furnished suite of rooms — the office of a millionaire. 
You take his place — tne greatest success at last ! Pros- 
perity, gratitude, happmess — what a blessed trio ! And 
they are all yours. Is it true ? What answers do those 
return who know by actual experience ? Listen attentive- 
ly, if you are inclined to think the greater the wealth 
the greater the success: 

What will I do with my money ? My God, I do not 
know. Here I am sick and alone — James G. Fair, 


Wealth does not bring happiness, for many reasons. 
— John D. Rockefeller. 

It is a hard job to be a milHonaire. The worry is 
something awful — awful. I wish I were just Barney, 
and back at Kimberly with the boys. — Barney Barnato. 

I AM not one iota happier now than I was in the days 
when I had not a dollar I could call my own, save that 
for which I worked from sunny morn to dewy eve. — 
George M. Pullman. 

Riches, like everything else in life, are all vanity and 
vexation of spirit. — Russell Sage. 

Why is the rich man sad, father; 

Why is the rich man sad ? 
Fair on the hills his turrets glow; 
Broad is the manor spread below; 
Garners and wine-vats overflow — 

Now why is he so sad ? 
His truth for a lordly price he sold; 
He gave his honor for yellow gold; 
It is for the peace he knew of old — 

And therefore he is sad. 

Once more the search is renewed, for success must 
result m happiness; this is the universal belief, and if 
men of greatest wealth are unhappy, that can not be 
success. It must be that the crowning goddess is in the 
presence of the king, as his ever-present guardian angel 
and dispenser of happiness. Let Queen Elizabeth speak 
for all: "The crown seems grander to those who look at. 
it than to those who wear it." It must be a true saying, 
that, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." 


Why is the king so sad, father; 

Why is the king so sad ? 
More than his sire the king is blest; 
The times are fair and the land at rest; 
With the little prince at the queen's fair breast. 

Why is the king so sad ? 
He put the women he loved aside, 
He steeled his heart when his true love cried. 
And took a princess to be his bride. 

And so the king is sad. 

I was sick, and in my delirium imagined myself lost 
in a dense forest. I was starving for food and famishing 
for water. I longed for a cool, refreshing drink from my 
well at the kitchen door, two thousand miles away. I 
wanted to rest — to be at home. Completely exhausted 
I would sit down on an old, moss-covered log to refresh 
myself a little, and try to get my bearings, when the 
most hideous reptiles and serpents imaginable would 
crawl out from beneath the bark on the old log and from 
under the fallen leaves, and drag their cold shiny bodies 
over my bare hands and feet, and dart their forked 
tongues into my face, and hiss, and hiss. 

So many in their endeavor to be successful, have 
lost their way. They have followed the ignis fattiiis 
into the forest. Or climbing up the pyramid of wisdom, 
ascending the steps of the king's throne, scrambling up 
the mountains of fashionable society, or sitting in the 
tenth story office of some millionaire, those who sought 
the greatest success in these ways may be found in ab- 
ject sadness. What they conceived to be the greatest 
success has been realized as the most poignant failure. 
They sit in awful, lonely solitude and look down upon 


the world below and away towards the approaching 
judgment, knowing that what ha? been considered the 
greatest success will not enable them to stand before the 
just Judge. The record is written — unsuccessful success. 


This is the conclusion of the whole matter: "Godli- 
ness is profitable unto all things, having the promise of 
the life that now is, and that which is to come." "Godli- 
ness with contentment is great gain" — true success. 

Thus the apostle. Pauls defines true success. Will 
3'ou not accept his definition as correct, so that you may 
make life a success ? 


— o — 

What matter that his trousers bear 

A patch on either knee, 
Since roses in his round cheeks glow, 
While sparkling glance and light laugh show 

A spirit blithe and free ? 

With grimy hand he knuckles down 

To let a marble fly, 
Intently scans the sphere's quick flight 
And chuckles in his deep delight 

When luck approves his eye. 

No mercenary gamester he 

That craves a rival's blood, 
As quick to share Dame Fortune's smiles 
As e'er he is to court her wiles — - 
A gentleman in bud. 

Tte Meeting. 
From the Painting by Marie Bashkirtseff. 


He has not heard the city's far, 

Insistent voices call, 
Yet not a bird in wood or field 
Nests long from his keen gaze concealed — 

He knows and loves them all. 

No cares oppress nor sorrow dim 

The joys his projects bring, 
For all life long or for a day 
I'd rather be that boy at play 

Than president or king. 



I shall be satis^ed, when I awake with thy likeness. — Ps. 17: 15. 
Satisfied? Why, yes. What bright and glorious ending 
Of life's sad struggle and of death's dark hour ! 
At last the light and shadows both are blending 
In one great picture of transforming power. 

Satisfied? No tongue can tell the wonderous story 
Of that sweet fellowship we shall have with Him, 
When we have reached the land of bliss and glory, 
The land where eyes shall never more be dim. 

Satisfied? The precious promise now is ringing. 
In my listening ears, and telling of the days to come, 
When all our sad notes shall be changed to singing 
The joy-songs of our happy, heavenly home. 

I shall be satisfied in that glorious morning 
When waking in His likeness I'll see His lovely face, 
When His righteousness shall be my bright adorning, 
And ray salvation is secured through His wondrous grace. 


3o8 life's short and checkered journey. 

'^Life's Short and Checkered Journey, 

The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason 
of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; 
for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. — Ps. go: lo 

Memory recalls with vivid exactness an old man of 
patriarchal appearance, like some master artist's picture 
of Abraham or Jacob, w^hom I knew when I was a small 
boy a third of a century ago. He was rather under 
than over the average stature of a man, and his body 
seemed to me to have undergone a kind of desiccation 
or shrinking process that I imagined gave a peculiar 
prominence to the intellectual and spiritual, so that 
these characteristics or attributes of his nature pre- 
dominated to a marked degree over the physical. His 
uncropped hair, fitly becoming a man of so great lon- 
gevity and devout demeanor, hung about his stooping 
shoulders like lingering snow on the mountains in mid- 
summer, while his long beard, as white as the frosts of 
the many winters that had gone over his head, fell 
gracefully on his bosom. Unlike Moses, his eyes v^ere 
dim, and his natural force was abated. His footsteps 
were feeble, for, if he had not traveled far, measuring 
the distance by the direct line that memory takes, the 
journey, though always upward, had been devious and 
winding. Leaning heavily on the top of his staff, an 
old hickory cane of peculiar pattern, he went with 
marked regularity and commendable faithfulness to the 
house of God, and, if opportunity was given, always 
raised his trembling voice toward heaven in prayer. 
That which was peculiar about his prayers, and that 

A Lesson in Boat-building. 
From the Painting by Henry Bacon. 

life's short and checkered journey. 309 

made an indellible impression on my mind, was that he 
almost invariably thanked God for having safely led him 
along "life's short and checkered journey," for to my 
inexperinced feet and happy heart the journey of life did 
not appear to be either short or checkered, and I could 
not understand how an octogenerian could so regard it. 
And if the way over which he had traveled had been 
checkered, my pathway certainly would not be. Joy 
and sorrow, prosperity and adversity, good and evil, 
success and failure, hope and despair would not — should 
not — play "hide and seek" along the way I would 
travel. Deluded boy that I was ! 


The old man's experience was that that is common to 
all making Life's journey, which, though it may reach 
beyond the seventieth milestone, is short and change- 
able, sometimes happiness and at other times misery 
and wretchedness predominating. 

Fortunate are they who learn early in life that "god- 
liness with contentment is great gain." Much may be 
done in this way to alleviate the sorrow and increase the 
joy of "life's short and checkered journey," for though 
the years be more than threescore and ten, they are 
"soon out off, and we fly away." 



— o — 

Days of my youth, ye have glided away ; 
Hairs of my youth, ye are faded and gray; 
Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more; 
Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o'er; 
Strength of my youth, all thy vigor is gone; 
Thoughts of my youth, your gay visions are flown. 

Days of my youth, I wish not your recall; 
Hairs of my youth, I'm content ye shall fall; 
Eyes of my youth, you much evil have seen; 
Cheeks of my youth, bathed in tears ye have been; 
Thoughts of my youth, ye have led me astray; 
Strength of my youth, why lament thy decay? 

Days of my age, ye will shortly be past; 
Pains of my age, yet a while ye can last; 
Joys of my age, in true wisdom delight; 
Eyes of my age, be religion your light; 
Thoughts of my age, dread ye not the cold sod; 
Hopes of my age, be ye fixed on your God. 




— o — 

And Joseph went up to bury his father: and with him went all the servants of 

Pharoah, the elders of his house and all the elders of the land of Egypt 

And there went up with him both chariots and horsemen, and it was a very great 
company. — Gen. 50: 7, 9. 

There was a weeping loud in Goshen, 

There was wailing in the land. 
For death had sorely smitten, 

The last of the patriarch band; 
And Israel's sons and daughters, 

Would not be comforted, 
For the angel of death, 
With his mighty breath, 
Had smitten Israel dead. 


The pyramids new and glittering, 

Beneath the tropic sun, 
Heard many a wail of anguish, 

When Jacob's race was run. 
The Sphynx in gloomy silence, 

Gazed toward the Lybian plain, 
But felt no thrill 

Of sorrow fill 

It's breast for Israel slain. 

The Nile Jflowed on serenely. 

Regardless of the dead. 
Past many a heathen temple. 

It stole with noiseless tread, 
The priests of On still worshipped, 

In the temple of the sun, 
But Joseph's head 

Bowed o'er the dead 

Of the victory death had won. 

Was ever such a funeral 

Procession upon the earth? 
A thousand of Pharoah's chariots, 

And men of noble birth, 
And many thousand horsemen 

Who strewed the way 
With wail and song 

Bore him along 

To where far Canaan lay. 

Oh Syrian deserts gleaming 

Beneath a fervent glow. 
Did you note that long procession 

Four thousand years ago? 
Long centuries before that star 

Rose over Bethlehem, 
Where angels bright 

From realms of light 

Proclaimed good news to men. 


Oh earth so full of sorrow, 

Oh days that bring but blight, 
Welcome the coming evening — 

Welcome the shades of night; 
Our lives are but processions, 

From out the misty past, 
And in some dark Machpelah's cave 

We too shall rest at last. 



When I am old, 
I wonder shall these smiling years grow tedious, drear and cold, 
Shall these fond aspirations prove fleeting visions vain, 
And youth-time's pleasures wreathe my brow with furrowed lines of pain? 
Shall life's December chill and steal sweet autumn's gathering gold, — 

When I am old? 

Nay, when I'm old, 
Time's winters shall not chill my feet, nor age grow loathsome, cold, 
He ne'er grows old whose years are young in deeds of Christian love; 
"He liveth best who loveth best," and lifts to fields above. 
So shall I live in Atha-land, where dear hearts revels bold. 

When I am old. 

When I am dead, 
And o'er me bend the violets, drooping their bleeding heads, 
I wonder shall these gay young friends breathe whispers of relief, 
And sigh, "Oh, well, he's better off;" nor pause in silent grief? 
Or marble-slab, "An Honest Man," speak forth above my bed. 

When I am dead ? 

Ah, when I'm dead, 
What matter though dear associates weep for my spirit fled? 
What matters it though kindred mourn? The parting's but a chain 
That links to-morrow with to-night, proves life not all in vain. 
Heaven's recompence when kindred souls to loftier planes are led. 

E'en though I'm dead ! 



Imbecile Boy. 

"Base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God 
chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that 
are." — i Cor. i: 28. 

An old bay horse, hitched to the sweep or lever of 
an improvised and very rudely constructed power, was 
walking round and round in a well-beaten track pumping 
water into the tank at an insignificant railroad station 
where trains running between two metropolitan cities 
stopped for water. Occasionally the old horse would 
stop to whisk a swarm of troublesome flies off his sides 
when the driver of the poor animal, a half witted boy 
some sixteen years of age, would bring the lash of his 
long whip down upon his skeleton-like body at the same 
time vociferating loud enough to be distinctly heard 
several blocks away, "Go on — Git up there," and the 
poor creature would begin again to move slowly round 
in the oft-traveled circle, where for so long he had been 
almost constantly in motion without making any advance- 
ment. Thus day after day, as regularly as time, the 
imbecile boy and the old horse kept the large tank filled 
with water to supply the engines on the railroad though 
neither of them recognized the value and importance of 
the work they were doing. They did not know that by 
what they did they assisted in carrying on the immense 
commercial traffic of the country. They were working 
out unconsciously the plans of others — of a higher 


Just so God sometimes chooses "the base things of 


this world" to assist in working out his glorious designs. 
Unconsciously or half consciously we may be doing some 
small part towards the accomplisment of a great purpose 
of the Supreme Designer in the daily performance of 
our ordinary and regular duties. This thought ought to 
give renewed energy to every obscure toiler in any field 
of honest labor. Paul was preparing to become a suc- 
cessful missionary of the cross when he sat as a student 
at the feet of Gamaliel and was being instructed in the 
Jewish law, though neither of them knew it. Before 
Paul was rescued from the Damascus mob, by being let 
down out side the wall in a basket, that he might con- 
tinue to preach **the faith which once he destroyed," the 
unknown basket-maker had been unconsciously a con- 
tributor towards the world's salvation. Therefore ''what- 
soever thy hands findeth to do, do it with thy might," 
for it may be that **God worketh in you to will and do 
of his good pleasure." 

"God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform; 
He plants his footsteps on the sea, 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never failing skill, 
He treasures up his bright designs 

And works his gracious will. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 

And scan his work in vain. 
God is his own interpreter, 

And he will make it plain." 


Stepping Stones. 
From the Painting by E. Munier. 



The little brook is flowing, 

Flowing on and on, 
Murmuring in the shadows, 

Sparkling in the sun. 

The little brook is flowing, 

Flowing to the sea; 
Gliding between flowery banks 

Ever gay and free. 

So our lives are flowing 

Like the little brook. 
And our thoughts and actions 

At J recorded in God's book. 




This world is bitter in a sense, 
fUit ;weet is heaven's recompense 
T ' all who walk with willing feet; 
The bi'tsr first and then the sweet. 


O what of him 
Who^e past is dark, his future dim with fears? 
Let him forget himself, let the oppressed 
Of earth become hi', children; let the grim 
Cloud-banks of bitterness dissolve in tears. 
Look up, O Soul, in service there is re .t. 


Love is the law cf God to-day, 
Who loves has weU obeyed Him; 
Save man, there is no better way 
Of serving God who made him. 



The Poorest Man in the World. 

Now abideth faith, hope, love, these three. — i Cor. 13: 13. 

There is a picture — a cartoon b}^ Frank Beard — that 
reveals much more than any description of it possibly 
can give, no matter how correct it may be. 

The central figure in the picture is that of a man of 
wealth sitting in an easy chair on an improvised raft 
that is drifting on the sea of eternity. At his side are 
some great bags of gold, and behind them a large steel 
safe, with door ajar, revealing a much larger quantity of 
the precious metal, while in his hands he holds deeds, 
certificates of stock, bonds, and mortgages. in the 
distance is a derelict — the dismantled hull of a vessel — 
that has not been sea-worthy for many years, upon 
which is plainly visible the name "Opportunity," that 
tells its own story. The man sits in solitary loneliness, 
in the midst of his wealth, wrapt in deep study, and 
well he may, for at his feet lie the three Christian 
graces. Faith, Hope and Love — represented by three 
beautiful women — dead ! Beneath the picture are the 
significant words, ' 'The poorest man in the world. •' 


Whatever losses any person may have sustained, he 
is rich who still posses faith, hope and love, and he is 
indescribably poor, whatever his possessions may be 
besides, who has suffered the loss of these superior 
Christian graces. Cherish and keep them, for their 
price is far above that of earthly riches. 



— o — 

Within my little cottage 

Are peace and warmth and light, 
And loving welcome waiting 

When I come at night, 
The polished kettle's steaming. 

The snowy cloth is spread — 
And close against my shoulder 

There leans a smooth brown head ! 
Her eyes are lit with laughter 

(The light of the world for me) — 
"For how much would you sell me? 

Now tell me, sir," cries she. 
'Tis then I answer, somehow. 

Between a smile and tear: 
' 'Not for all the gold in Klondike ! 

The gold in Klondike, dear !" 

When the cozy tea is over, 

With many a frolic fond. 
I sit and read my paper, 

And from the room beyond 
I hear the clink of china, 

The tread of nimble feet. 
And broken bits of singing 

That somehow ripple sweet. 
I hear a rush and rustic 

Beyond my easy-chair; 
Short, chubby arms enclasp me 

And choke me unaware ! 
Into my arms is tumbled 

A crinkled golden head, 
A ball of fluffy whiteness 

That ought to be in bed. 
She asks her mother's question — 

I kiss the answer clear — 
"Not for all the gold in Klondike? 

The gold in Klondike, dear !" 


In dim and dusty ofl&ce 

I dig my bits of gold; 
I suffer not with hunger 

Nor perish with the cold. 
My nuggets needs be tiny 

(I dig them with a pen), 
But the Yukon's golden gravel 

I leave for other men. 
My treasure lies exhaustless; 

My claim is staked with care; 
•What is all the gold in Klondike 

Since I'm love's millionaire? 


Stormy at Eventide. 

"Judas, which was to guide them that took Jesus, . . . was numbered 
with us, and had obtained part of this ministry." — Acts i: 17, 18. 

"One of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief 
priests, and said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver 
him unto you ? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver. 
And from that time he sought opportunity to betray him." — Matt. 26:14-16. 

"Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was con- 
demned .... cast down the pieces of silver in the temple and departed, 
and went and hanged himself." — Matt. 27:3-5. 

The beginning of the day was full of promise. The 
morning sun shone brightly from a clear blue sky. 
Gentle zephyrs fanned the cheeks of those who were 
early astir. All nature seemed to rejoice and welcome 
the new day. Long before noon, however, there was a 
mist or haze in the atmosphere that seemed to portend 
falling weather. Wise weather observers said a storm 
was brewing. Shortly after midday clouds began to 
gather in the heavens from somewhere — everywhere, in 
fact — and long before the middle of the afternoon the 


sky was entirely overcast with ominous, dark clouds. A 
storm was imminent and certain. Before the afternoon 
was half over the storm broke in terrific fury. The light- 
ning flashed, the thunder rumbled and roared, and the 
rain fell in torrents. Darkness, murky as an Egyptian 
night, came on, and in awful gloom the day ended, the 
day that had had such an auspicious beginning. 


Many a life propitiously begun like the day has 
ended in ignominious failure, with no person to blame for 
it but the individual himself. How disappointing when 
much has been promised and expected from another and 
nothing realized. Judas has been frequently reincarna- 
ted. Beware of incipient unrighteousness. The day of 
life will close tempestuously and awful darkness will 
follow. Remember Judas. 



— o — 

In life's brightest moments when all is at rest, 
And all things about me seem happy and blest- 
In nature around me God's image I see; 
For I am his child and he careth for me. 

When dark is my pathway and over the sky 
The black clouds of sorrow are drifting so nigh, 
Then close to my Saviour I ever would flee, 
For, oh blessed thought, he careth for me. 

Dear Lord, I entreat Thee that close by Thy side 

I ever may walk, whatever betide. 

In joy or in sorrow thine ever I'd be, 

For Thou art my Savior and careth for me. 



The Maze and the Highway. 

— o — 

An highway shall be there and wayfaring men, though 

fools shall not err therein. — Isa. 35: 8. 

On the spacious and well-kept grounds belonging to 
one of the leading hotels on the Pacific coast, there is, 
among a great many other novel attractions which afford 
recreation and amusement for the guests, a rectangular 
labarynth, covering perhaps half an acre of ground, 
constructed out of neatly trimmed hedges of geraniums 
and cypress shrubs, four or five feet high, with halls or 
aisles between leading by artful circumlocution to an 
open space at the center of the rectangle, where there 
is a cozy arbor with rustic seats, restful hammocks, 
inviting swings, and easy chairs, for the persons, who 
can find their way through the mystic maze, to enjoy. 

You enter the ''enchanted aisle" with bright-hued 
flowers peeping forth from every niche and cranny in the 
evergreen walls on either side, and the peculiarly stimu- 
lating fragrance of thousands of delicate young cypress 
sprigs — just springing into life since the cruel shears of 
the pruner passed over the hedge for the one hundreth 
time only a few days before — greeting you like a balmy, 
spice-laden breeze from some far-away fairy land. You 
feel certain that the walk to the center of the labarynth 
— the sanctum sanctorum about which you have heard 
so much — will not be a long one, and that, with such 
an inviting prospect and enjoyable surroundings, a de- 
lightfully pleasant one as well. So on and on you go. 
Now appearing to make rapid progress toward the goal of 
your desire as you glide along between walls of living 


green, and now — because of your ignorance of the cor- 
rect way failing to turn to the right or to the left 
when you should have done so, coming abruptly to the 
end of the aisle, as hundreds of others had done — 
compelled to reluctantly retrace your steps. Then you 
come to this or that opening in the hedge and halt and 
wonder whether you should turn to the right or left into 
another aisle or continue in the one in which you are 
walking. You can only guess, for it is impossible to 
decide with any feeling or assurance of certainty. You 
choose, and find as you go forward that your choice was 
wrong, for here is the end of the narrow passage into 
which yon turned ! When you have been turned back 
thus again and again, and growing weary from the pro- 
longed tramp, you venture to inquire of some person 
whom you chance to meet, how you should proceed to 
arrive as quickly as possible at your desired destination, 
and he is unable to give you the slightest clue to the 
mystery, you become more perplexed than ever. 

If, after repeated efforts, you are lucky enough to 
"thread the materialized fantasy of an idealist's imagin- 
ation," and feel the thrill of your success or good luck, 
and enjoy as long as you desire the easy retreat you have 
found, you realize that it would be impossible for you to 
direct another to this place of secluded enjoyment, and 
that it would be equally as difficult for you to find your 
way thither again as it was at first. 


Similar to this are many of the experiences of life, 
particularly that of gaining a knowledge of the hidden 
things of nature. There is no royal road to wisdom. 

322 MY father's CARE. 

Many of the greatest scientific discoveries have been 
made by accident, or by experimenting without any 
definite knowledge of what the result would be or just 
how it was to be brought about. God has left us to find 
our way to the center of the mystic maze of scientific 
knowledge and to seek out the hidden wonders of nature, 
but has made the way of salvation so plain that the 
prophet exultingly proclaimed, *'An highway shall be 
there .... and wayfaring men, though fools, shall, not 
err therein." 


— o — 

Along my paths on journeys new, 

Where they divided; 
My father kept my feet in view, 

Each footstep guided. 
No way so intricate, but what 

A light was shining, 
No cloud intensified, where not 

A "silver lining," 

Illumed its edges in a way 

So purely tender, 
I knew behind the god of day 

Shone forth in splendor. 
And that the dawn thro' low'ring skies 

With flood of glory 
Would clear a way that otherwise 

Was dark before me. 




House Damaged by Fire. 

Wickedness burneth as the fire. — Is. 9: 18. 

Early this morning the villagers were aroused by the 
cry of fire, than which there is nothing more thrilling 
and exciting. Men, running from every direction, 
shouted, "Fire ! fire !! fire !!!" till they were hoarse, and 
the sharp, quick strokes of the bell, as they rang out in 
startling contrast with the usual stillness of the dawning 
day, responded "Fire! fire!! fire!!!" 

The occasion for the alarm being given was that 
great volumes of smoke were pouring forth from a neat 
cottage that stood near the center of the little town. 
The people who occupied the house were temporarily 
absent, visiting relatives and friends in. Scotland, and in 
some mysterious manner the building had been set on 
fire — probably by an incendiary — sometime during the 
night, and notwithstanding the volunteer firemen re- 
sponded quickly and worked heroically to save the 
property of their fellow-townsman, the whole interior of 
the building was charred and blackened and the furniture 
ruined before the fire could be extinguished. 

The exterior of the building, aside from a few broken 
panes of glass, and here and there the traces of smoke 
on the white paint, appears just as it did before the 
fire, but the cozy and homelike interior has been com- 
pletely transformed by the destroyer into a perfect picture 
of wretchedness and ruin. 


In like manner we have all seen the terrible devas- 
tation that sin has wrought. A young man begins to 

324 LOSSES. 

live a ''fast life." The better part of his nature is 
observed to be on fire. The alarm is given, and kind, 
Christian friends respond, and after long and heroic 
work succeed in extinguishing the flames, but there has 
been sad havoc made with the furniture of the soul. 
Self-respect has been charred, memory begrimmed, purity 
tarnished, innocence consumed, and manhood blackened 
by ' 'the smoke of his torment that ascendeth forever and 
ever." Irreparable damage has been sustained. Out- 
wardly the man may appear substantially as he did be- 
fore the awful holocaust, but in the secret archives of 
his selfhood he knows what a terrible loss has been 
sustained by the conflagration of iniquity that first 
smouldered and then burned fiercely there. Let it be 
written everywhere in letters that glow: "Wickedness 
burneth as the fire." 


— o — 

Upon the white sea sand 

There sat a pilgrim band, 
Telling the losses which their lives had known, 

While evening waned away 

From breezy cliff and bay, 
And the strong tides went out with a weary moan. 

One spake with quivering lip 

Of a fair freighted ship. 
With all his household to the deep gone down. 

But one had wilder woe, 

For a fair face long ago, 
Lost in the darker depths of a great town. 

LOSSES. 325 

There were some who mourned their youtli 

With a most loving truth, 
For its brave hopes and memories ever green, 

And one upon the West 

Turned an eye that would not rest. 
For far-off hills whereon its joy had been. 

Some talked of vanished gold, 

Some of proud honors told. 
Some spake of friends that were thc>ir trust no more: 

And one of a green grave, 

Beside a foreign wave. 
That made him sit so lonel}- on the shore. 

But when their tales were done 

There spake among them one, 
A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free. 

"Sad losses have ye met. 

But mine is heavier yet, 
For a believing heart hath gone from me." 

"Alas !" these pilgrims said, 

"For the living and the dead. 
For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross. 

For the wreck of land and sea. 

But howe'er it "came to thee — 
Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviest loss." 




— o — 

Where is thine olden glory, O city of the King ? 

What worthy thing is in thee of which the bard might sing? 

Where are the watchmen valiant who stood upon the wall, 

That thee and all thy treasures no evil should befall? 

Thy mountains still are round thee, and evermore shall stand, 

But scattered are thy children, exiles in every land. 

A hundred times thy foemen have circled thee around, 

And laid thy noble palaces in ruins on the ground. 

Where is the glorious temple that stood on Zion's Hill? 

Is there one stone remaining upon another still? 

Its cedars brought from Lebanon have mouldered long ago, 

Its pavements holy have been trod by many a heathen foe; 

And ages numberless ago its vail was rent in twain, 

And all its holy mysteries exposed to eyes profane. 

Where is the house of Solomon, august beyond compare. 

Bedecked with gaudy furnishings and full of treasures rare? 

Where now is all his glory, the purple and the gold. 

When Sheba's queen acknowledged, "The half has not been told?" 

No more the thronging thousands the Lord of Hosts adore, 

Thy holy days and sabbaths and feasts are held no more. 

No spotless lambs are offered upon thy altars now, 

And in thy holy mountain no more the people bow. 

The plagues and desolutions to thee in judgement sent 

Caused not the erring people within thee to repent, 

Till darkness came upon them and gross darkness filled the land, 

And all was swept and scattered by Jehovah's vengeful hand. 

Jerusalem, the olden, no more thy towers shall rise, 

But in the golden future beyond the arching skies 

A city shall be builded of jasper and of gold, 

Jerusalem the Beautiful, which shall outshine the old, 

As doth the noonday splendor surpass the darkest night, 

For Christ the holy Son of God shall be the city's Light. 



All Improved Water Filter, 

^lany men died of the waters, because the}- were made bitter. — Kev. 
8: II. 

The water that I sh.-dl give him shall be in him a well of water 
springing up into everlasting life. — Jno. 4; 14. 

Being something of an inventor myself, I was inter- 
ested perhaps more than most persons would have been, 
in an "improved water filter," which I had the patience 
to permit the inventor to "show and explain" to me not 
long ago. It was certainly a novel device if it was not 
a useful one, for I failed to see its practical utility, 
though the enthusiastic patentee repeatedly assured me 
that it was "all right.'* 

Like many filters of a similar pattern, it was a simple 
mechanism or contrivance for straining the water by 
being attached to the end of the hydrant or faucet, and 
if "carefully watched and regularly cleansed according 
to directions," would undoubtedly remove some of the 
impurities from the water. I^ut there were at least two 
very serious objections to the "nickel-plated, ne plus 
ultra, aqua pura, filter," and these more then counter- 
balanced the many advantages claimed for it as a puri- 
fier. In the first place, it would not remove the im- 
purities unless ' 'carefully watched, and regularly cleansed, 
according to directions" — neglect w^ould be fatal to its 
usefulness entirely, and then, no matter how carefully it 
was watched it could not eliminate the inorganic im- 
purities and disease germs — such as typhoid, cholera, 
and diphtheria baccilli — from the water. Hence, to my 
mind it was fatally defective, and consequently worth- 
lass, but like man.y insignificant and useless things, it 


started a train of thought from which I derived some 
benefit, and which may also be profitable to others. 

There are many people — especially young men and 
young women — in this day of indiscriminate novel read- 
ing who pour through their minds daily a foul stream of 
impure literature. In one of these popular works of 
fiction, I am told, there is a very minute and detailed 
description of the intemperate and lascivious nocturnal 
orgies of Roman maidens, men and matrons — plebeians 
and nobles, each for the time the peer of the other — 
engaged indiscriminately in a disgraceful bacchanalian 
carousal, all probably ''true to life," but, what shall 
the harvest be for those in whose hearts the seeds of 
impurity have been sown by reading of those shameful, 
licentious revels ? 

In another weird, eccentric, yet, in many repects, 
true story, there is the glorification of the man who 
successfully impersonated both the villain and the saint, 
with the tacit suggestion, "Go thou, and do likewise." 

And in still another popular romance, purporting to 
tell of ''Love at First Sight," there is rather the por- 
trayal and covert commendation of the "social evil" — 
now lurking in so many unsuspected homes, like skele- 
tons in closets. 

And people by thousands are pouring this vile stream 
into their minds and hearts and solacing their consciences 
with the false belief that their purity will not be con- 
taminated thereby because they filter all this pollution 
and sewage through their "moral sense !" 


Whatever may be the primary meaning of the state- 

JESUS. 329 

ment in Revelation, that "many men died of the waters," 
in this connection the signification is unmistakable, and 
does not need to be mentioned to be known. 

Why not eschew that water which, though sweet in 
the mouth is bitter after being drank, and partake more 
freely of the water that springs up ''into everlasting 
life ?" Yes, why not ? 


I think of Thee when in the morning hours 

I wander forth alone; 
The still air filled with songs of birds, the flowers 

Waking to life again 

I think of Thee when on the velvet sward 

The netted shadows play; 
And 'mong the leafy boughs, the mellow winds 

Murmur a low, sweet lay. 

I think of Thee — the gentle breeze of even 

Ripples the summer sea; 
And sweetly breathes of Thee, as soft it floats 

Over the drowsy lea 

I think of Thee; the moonbeams coldly fall — 

I linger yet with Thee; 
I see Thee, hear Thee, feel Thy presence near, 

So sweet, so dear to me. 

I think of Thee when in the stilly night 

In prayer, I bow alone; 
Life, love and joy abide with Thee, O Christ, 

Make me Thine own, Thine own. 


330 THE soul's anchor. 

— o — 

(Heb. 6: 19.) 
O tossing ships upon Life's stormy seas, 
O restless souls, when waves of sorrow roll, — 
Throw out the Anchor, Hope, and be at peace, 
The sure and steadfast anchor of the soul ! 



Last night in dreams my soul forsook its clay, 
And wandered freely in vast starlit space, 
Whereat a Spirit, slipped from some high place, 
Paused in its course and barred the shining way. 
Then did my soul most fervently entreat: 
"O Spirit, what is Heaven?" Low and clear 
The mystic answer fell upon my ear: 
" 'Tis perfect wherein Earth is incomplete." 



The Old Peddler. 

— o — 

Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the 
world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have 
the light of life. — Jno. 8: 12. 

An old man, with a rude, heavy cane in his hand and 
a bundle of new brooms on his shoulder, was a familiar 
sight -to all the people in the town. He was very poor, 
quite infirm, and all alone in the world, and having 
neither relative nor friend to minister to his wants he 
had taken up the humble and unenviable business of a 
peddler in order that he might supply himself with food, 
clothing and shelter, for beyond these necessary things 


his needs were few and simple, aside from the friendship 
for which his old heart longed. To gain a livelihood, 
when the days were fair and his bodily infirmities would 
permit, the old peddler went plodding along the streets 
shouting, "Buy a broom! Brooms! Brooms for sale I 
A new broom sweeps clean ! Buy a broom !" and his 
clear, musical voice ran up and down the streets, and 
climbed the door steps long before the itinerant sales- 
man reached the front gate. 

The sea of life had been stormy for him during his 
long voyage, and seemed likely, until recently, to con- 
tinue so to the end. He had endured the hardships of 
the civil war, and had suffered from a series of privations 
equally as severe after it was over. To add to and 
intensify all his disappointments and afflictions he had 
been living "without God and without hope in the world." 
He was a cynical sceptic, tired of life, yet afraid to end 
his earthly existence. Without friends, sick and de- 
spondent. More to be pittied, perhaps, than blamed 
for his misspent life, he was realizing every day that 
"the way of the transgressor is hard." 

His last affliction was that his eye-sight failed, leav- 
ing him almost in darkness. For him the midday sun 
shone but dimly, his eyes responding but feebly to the 
brightness of the king of day. But this affliction had 
been a blessing in disguise. He had been compelled to 
go to the county hospital for treatment, and there came 
in contact with Christian people who took an interest in 
his temporal and spiritual wellfare and finally led him to 
that One who makes the blind to see, and there he was 
given a light and a joy in his old age that he had never 


known before. As he expressed it, "In my blindness 
the Light of the world enabled me to see." 


It appears strange indeed that it is with such difficulty 
that blind eyes are opened. People seem to prefer to 
walk in darkness, struggling along the broad road to 
ruin, rather than to follow Jesus, and, walking in safety 
and security, enter in through the gates into that city 
whose inhabitants have "no need of the sun, neither of 
the moon, to shine in it," but where "the Lamb is the 
light thereof." Heed wisdom's admonition and begin 
early in life to follow that Light that makes walking in 
darkness impossible. 


— o — 

In the valley of the shadow 
Though the Savior lead me, still, 
With his arm of love about me, 
I can fear no harm nor ill. 

For he's promised he will hide me, 

As I journey through the land, 

When the storms are gathering round me, 

In the shadow of his hand 

Then I'll hasten to that refuge. 
Unto him my grief confide, 
And there rest in peace securely 
Whate'er sorrow may betide. 

Living in his care and favor, 
Walking with him day by day, 
I will live upon his promise 
Till the shadows flee away. 



An Expensive Boquet, 

Whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept not from them, I withheld not 
my heart from any joy; .... and this was my portion of all my labor: 
all was vanity and vexation of spirit. — Eccl. 2: 18, 11. 

Slowly the long train of passenger cars had been 
hauled up the heavy grade by two ponderous engines — 
designated in the peculiar nomenclature of professional 
railroad men as a "double-header" — and halted not far 
from the mouth of the tunnel that pierced the mountain 
near the summit of the "divide," where one of the 
engines was detached and left behind as there was no 
further use for it. 

The cars were filled with passengers, many of whom 
had never been "out west" before, and every new thing, 
no matter how insignificant and trivial, was to them 
peculiarly interesting. They wanted to inspect every 
object they saw, and often did so with much incon- 
venince, and sometimes danger to themselves, and dis- 
comfort to others. The train had scarcely halted at the 
tunnel before many of them began to leave the cars to 
pluck some of the beautiful wild flowers that grew in 
great profusion on the side of the mountain. Some of 
them, more venturesome than others, had wandered 
quite a distance away when the signal was given for the 
train to start. Men, women and children came running 
from every direction and there was a general scramble to 
get aboard the moving cars as quickly as possible. 

When the train was well under way a man from one 
of the southern states came into the car, agitated and 
excited, clutching nervously a few tattered fragments of 


bright red flowers, and holding them up — when he had 
somewhat regained his usual composure — said, "This 
ought to be a very valuable boquet — it cost enough. In 
my attempt to get on board the cars I lost a pair of 
spectacles for which I recently paid five dollars, and I. 
was almost dragged under the moving train." Then 
looking at the flowers a moment, as if disgusted, he 
tossed the torn and broken pieces out at the window just 
as the train entered the tunnel. 


This is typical of common experiences. It not in- 
frequently happens that all a man has in his possession, 
when the train plunges into the tunnel we call the grave, 
is some trivial and worthless thing he has secured at 
great peril, and he casts that away in utter disgust. 
Only a few tattered fragments of broken resolutions and 
unpaid vows ! These all there is of lifi ! It is not strange 
that he should cry oat "vanity and vexation of spirit !" 
It would be well for us to ask the question now, "Must 
I meet my Savior so !" 



When the days sesm dark and dreary 
And clouds o'erspre d the sky; 
When our hearts are sad and weary, 
Then our Savior draweth nigh. 

He can feel our deepest sorrow, 
All our grief and all our pain; 
Only trust Him and to-morrow 
It will all be right again. 


Easter Morning. 
From the Painting by Gustave Dore. 


The False Telegram. 

And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a kid of the goats, and dipped 
the coat in the blood; and they jent the coat of many colors, and they 
brought it to their father; and said, This have we found: know now 
whether it be thy son's coat or no. And he knew it, and said, It is my 
son's coat: an evil beast hath devoured him: Joseph is without doubt 
rent in pieces. And Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his 
loins, and mourned for his son many days. — Gen. 37: 31-34. 

Suppose your name is John Jones, and that you are 
the only man of that name in a certain town and that 
you are in a large audience, when a messenger from the 
telegraph office enters the room with a telegram which 
he gives to the presiding officer, or, if the meeting you 
are attending is of a religious character, to the preacher, 
who, glancing at the name and address on the envelope 
containing the message, says, *'Here is a telegram for 
John Jones. Is the gentleman present .?" 

You indicate your presence and the message is de- 
livered to you. You open the envelope and it takes 
you but a moment to read the startling news that your 
mother is dead. A feeling of inexpressible sadness 
siezes you. Your manly heart is touched as never be- 
fore, for you have never before had such cause for grief. 
She who loved you with an incomprehensible love and 
whose matchless tenderness was as refreshing to your 
soul as the dew of early morning to the new-blown 
flowers, has taken her departure and will never return. 
You will never have the pleasure of looking into her 
face again. Her musical voice will never more fall on 
your ears except in memory. She is gone. 

Through your blinding tears you endeavor to read 


again the message that has brought you so much sorrow 
— that in a moment has taken all the happiness out of 
your heart. But how difficult it is to stanch the flow of 
tears. You can not read it a second time, so without 
saying a word — for there are times when the tongue is 
unable to find language with which to express the cause 
of the unutterable sorrow that fills the heart — you hand 
the message to one who sits near you. He reads the 
name and address, and says to you, ''This is not your 
message. The name is not John Jones." Just so. 
There is an "a" instead of an "e". The message is not 
meant for Jones at all. Your mother is not dead, as 
you had believed her to be. The belief of a falsehood 
swayed your emotional nature like a reed in a hurricane. 


The first thing that should be done, when information 
is brought to one's attention, is to determine whether it 
is true or false before believing it. This is especially 
important where people are taught to rely on their 
"feelings" as evidence that certain religious doctrines or 
practices are true. The wise and safe course to pursue 
is to ^ 'prove all things, and hold fast that which is 
good," as Paul admonishes those to whom his Thessa- 
lonian letter was addressed, for "many false prophets gone out into the world, " and many people are in- 
clined to accept as true the statements made to them by 
these false teachers without investigation. Their 
"feelings" have been touched — emotional nature aroused 
— and they are thus confirmed in the belief of a false- 
hood, just as Jacob was convinced that Joseph, his 
favorite son, was dead. 

,, don't look at the water, look up at the sky." 337 

In all things pertaining to the religious life, bear in 
mind that he who spake as never man spake declared 
that a knowledge of the truth, and not the belief of a 
falsehood, no matter how much the sensibilities may be 
stirred by that belief, makes free. 


God's sermons are not always written by sages, 
Or carefully worded by the wise ones of earth: — 
To teach precious lessons he sometimes engages 
The things that are simple, the lowly in birth. 
One time I remember — my spirit was bending 
Beneath a great sorrow that darkened my way — 
I rode all alone, save a slave boy attending, 
To a swift river's ford I had crossed the same day. 

The current had deepened and widened since morning, 

But sorrowful thoughts were absorbing my mind, 

And into the stream I rode, heedless of warning 

That came from the dark-visaged rider behind. 

But soon, with a thrill, o'er my feet surely brimming, 

I felt the cold water rise higher and higher — 

My horse shivered 'neath me — sank — rose — and was swimming; 

The current seemed swifter and darker and nigher. 

Bewildered and dizzy, I reeled and seemed falling; 
When o'er the hoarse water I heard a low cry: 
The voice of my faithful boy earnestly calling, 
"Don't look at the water — look up at the sky !" 
Even then to my spirit with sweet double meaning. 
These simple words flashed like a message benign; 
My mind from its fright and bewilderment weaning 
To calmness and trust in the Helper divine. 


I ne'er shall forget the sweet feeling of quiet 
That steadied my frame as I lifted my eyes 
With bosom now tranquil where fear had run riot, 
To a rift of bright blue in the rain-clouded skies, 
I looked at the dusky form, breathing beside me 
The rough river current, with humble surprise, 
That such should be given the mission to guide me 
Through life's troubled waters to God and the skies. 

And when from the water in safety emerging, 
Across the green, daisy-starred meadow I rode. 
New thoughts and resolves in my bosom were surging. 
Whero faith like a rekindled beacon light glowed. 
Of the lesson thus given time hath not bereft me; 
For often when life's troubled waters rise high, 
I say to my spirit: "Thy God hath not left thee" — 
"Don't look at the water — look up at the sky." 

If dangers assail thee, God's hand can prevent them 

O'erthrowing his children, secure in his smile; 

If sorrow befall, it is he who hath sent them — 

Be strong to endure, it is but for a while, 

Think more of his loving and less of his chastening; 

In praises and prayer lift thy spirit on high; — ■ 

There is strength in the thought of deliverance hastening; — 

"Don't look at the water — look up at the sky." 



Wild Morning-glories. 

Every priest standeth daily ministering and offering often-times the 
same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. — Heb. lo: ii. 

Almost every farmer and horticulturist in the state of 
California has had more or less experience with the wild 
morning-glory that is indigenous to nearly every part of 
the state. The bean growers of Ventura, the fruit 


raisers of the Santa Clara valley, the raisin makers of 
Fresno, the sugar beet producers of the Pajaro valley, 
the hop growers of Ukiah, and the grain farmers of the 
Sacramento and San Joaquin valleys have all had 
similar and unsatisfactory experiences, for their efforts 
have only resulted, in most instances, in holding the 
pest in check, and seldom, if ever, in completely eradi- 
cating it. Spreading out its long, white, friable roots, 
with amazing rapidity in every direction and in every 
soil alike whether rich or poor, it sends forth a vigorous 
vine and soon produces an abundant crop of seed. And 
not only so, but the smallest fragment of a root — and 
being very brittle the roots are easily broken by the cul- 
tivator — if left in the soil sends up a thrifty vine which 
in a very short time brings forth a harvest. Thus by 
this double method of propagation it spreads rapidly and 
unless constant vigilance is exercised, soon takes com- 
plete possession of the soil. The pinkish-white, bell- 
shaped blossoms may be the symbol of glory when full 
blown in the early morning, but they have no such 
signification to the farmer who vainly labors during the 
remainder of the long day, and day after day, to ex- 
terminate the noisome plant. 


This is at least suggestive of sin, and the ineffectual 
efforts that have been put forth from time immemorial 
to rid the world of the awful pest. Every sacrifice 
offered by priest on Jewish or heathen alter has only 
been a vain attempt to eradicate sin and iniquity from the 
hearts of the people. And every prayer that has been 
uttered, as well as every good resolution that has ever 


been formed has been for the same, but, alas, unavaiHng 
purpose. The most that has ever been done at any 
time has been to hold it somewhat in check. Christ 
alone is the all-sufficiant Savior. 


Now or Never. 

A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jerico, and fell among 
thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and de- 
parted, leaving him half dead. And by chance there came down a 
certain priest that way; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other 
side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked 
on him, and passed by on the other side. — Luke lo: 30-32. 

The way is dangerous and the night is very dark. 
Suppose you have a lighted lantern in your hand and 
when near the end of your journey you meet a man 
carrying an unlighted lantern. There is plenty of oil in it 
to last till he shall reach his destination, but he has no 
means of lighting it. He knows that the road over which 
he must travel is a very difficult and dangerous one, 
though he has never gone that way before. He requests, 
then pleads, that he may light his lantern at yours, but 
you selfishly refuse to grant his request. He must go 
on alone in the darkness. You too proceed on your way, 
congratulating yourself that you have the helpful light 
of your lantern to guide you, and wonder whether the 
unlucky man you met will reach his destination in 
safety ! The next day you learn that the luckless 
traveler, losing his way in the darkness, fell over a 
precipice and was killed. But your remorse will not 
bring the dead to life, nor will it give you serenity and 


peace of mind, for you realize that you are guilty. His 
request was reasonable and ought to have been granted. 

Imagine that the night is bitterly cold. You are at 
home with your family. A bright, geniel fire is burning 
on the hearth. A poor man — one of your neighbors — 
enters and says, '*While we were temporarily away from 
home our fire went out. Let me take a brand from your 
fire with which to rekindle mine .-* Fortunately we have 
fuel enough, but neither matches nor fire." But you 
turn him away, telling him that he ought to have been 
more thoughtful. You have enough to do to provide fuel 
and fire for your own house. You selfishly deny him one 
small brand from your glowing hearth ! The poor man 
goes forth to spend the night with his family in his 
cheerless cottage. Sickness, suffering and death result 
from your cruel selfishness. You go to the grave where 
your neighbor's child lies buried to weep out your sorrow, 
but the tears gush forth from a perennial fountain. The 
life — your life — has been made joyless. There is no 
longer the happiness for you that you bad before that 
night when the poor man made of you the reasonable 
request you so ungraciously refused. 

Think that you are a passenger on a great steamship, 
bound for some distant land where you expect to meet 
loved ones from whom you have long been separated. 
A joyous reunion is fondly anticipated, but not more 
joyous than many of your fellow-passengers expect when 
the vessel on which you are sailing shall drop anchor in 
the harbor of the home land. In the darkness of a 
stormy night you see a man as he falls overboard, but 
you make no effort to save him. You catch one awful 


glimpse of despair in his countenance as the ship's lights 
flash in his upturned face as she glides by, leaving the 
helpless man vainly struggling and crying for aid. He 
might have been rescued if you had done your duty. 
The vessel enters the harbor. Friends and relatives 
crov^d the wharf to greet and welcome loved ones. There 
are those who vainly scan every face as the passengers 
go ashore. You know that they are doomed to sad 
disappointment' They are expecting to meet the hus- 
band and father who fell overboard and was lost. Lost 
because you selfishly neglected to put forth any effort 
to save him. You meet those whom you had long de- 
sired to see, but in each loving face is the unmistakable 
countenance of your fellow-passenger who perished, and 
in each voice you detect the wail of the man who went 
down to a watery grave. You would seek peace of mind 
in solitude, but you can not find a place where you are 
alone. That man is there ! 


Are the illustrations too strong ? I think not. And 
if they are not over-drawn, what must be the regret 
when sometime, those who might have rescued perishing 
souls, * 'come to themselves, " and fully realize what has 
resulted from their selfishness. God grant that we may 
be aroused from our lethargy to save the lost before it 
is too late. Salvation does not belong to regrets. Re- 
morse will not bring back neglected opportunities. **Now 
is the accepted time" — because it is the only time. The 
traveler is among thieves. To the rescue — now or never! 


EBB-TIDE. 343 


Swiftly seaward from the broad lae;oon, 

The ebbing tide has set; 
Flung on its bosom from the fiying moon, 

Bright jewels gleam and fret. 

Thi bending reeds upon its shore, 

A nodding farewell sigh; 
The seagull circles o'er and o'er. 

Between its wave and sky. 

Far out beyond the dim expanse, 

To gateways of the dawn, 
Whf re white capped billows madly dance, 

The hurrying tide sweeps on. 

But that myserious, subtle force, 

Will wane and pale and die, 
And sweeping backwards on its course, 

Shoreward the tide will fly. 

The fisherman within his boat. 

And e'en the fisher boy, 
Will laugh to see his craft afloat. 

And hail thy flood with joy. 

Behold, I stand upon the shore, 

And cry again, again, 
For youthful days that are no more 

Or gone beyond my ken, 

Youth's joys that would not here abide. 

Drift they on some fair sea ? 
Will belated refluent tide, 

Bear them again t j me ? 

The ebb-tide of my youth has set. 

Seaward to an unknown shore; 
Vain — all vain is each regret. 

It will return no more. 



The Mirage. 

"The things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not 
seen are eternal." — 2 Cor, 4: 15. 

I Spent last night away from home, and this morning 
when the snn arose I looked across the broad Rio 
Solado valley in the direction of where I lived, but could 
not see the church spires and roofsof the tallest buildings 
above the tops of the beautiful green trees as I had done 
many times before, and as I had expected to do again. 
I saw instead a mirage — and not a beautiful one either. 
The imaginary lake was dark and ominous, like a real 
lake appears when a storm is approaching. In the 
distance across the water the ''White Tank" mountains 
lifted their blue outlines against the western sky. 
Columns of black smoke rose from the surface of the 
water and floated away towards the north, and it re- 
quired no stretch of the imagination to see the steam- 
boats speeding away freighted with passengers and 
merchandise. A river — the Rio Solado — bordered with 
willow and cotton-wood trees, was immediately before 
me, and then the desert covered with Suhara and other 
varieties of cacti, and beyond, the lake, as real to my 
vision as the river and the desert. 

I knew that I was being deceived, but it was not 
easy to realize that there was no lake, but that where I 
saw the water was the city of Phoenix, and that the 
smoke curling gracefully from the steam boats was the 
smoke from the mills and the power houses. I stepped 
to my room in the hotel where I had spent the night and 
secured a field glass, but I could not penetrate the mist 

From the painting by J. E. Millais. 


— it only made that which was apparent appear the 
more real. Then I said, I know my home and loved 
ones are there if I cannot see anything but a great lake 
stretching far away to the distant mountains. And I can 
go to them for there is a ferry and also a bridge across 
the river, that winds along at my very feet, and an easy 
road across the desert leading directly to the city, only a 
few miles away, where is my home where I and my loved 
ones reside. 


The things that are seen are temporal — and often 
unreal — but the things that are not seen are eternal — 
and real. The margin on this side the river is very 
narrow, and the boatman stands ready to ferry us over 
to the opposite shore as soon as our feet touch the 
waters of Jordan. Then we all shall immediately be at 
home with our loved ones in the city of God — having 
exchanged the ideal for the real and the temporal for the 



To day I plucked a frail convolvuH, 

From tangle wild, where shyly hid, it grew, — 

And held it 'gainst the torquoise of the sky; 

It gleamed a dainty bell against the blue 

Soft silver gray, and faintest amethyst. 

To purest snow, the sunlight glinted through; 

As if some fay had woven twilight mist 

With moon beams pa^e, and gemmed it thick with dew- 

And left it there upsmiling to the morn. 

34^ A PRAYER. 

Oh ! wonder fashioned flower, thou blossom rare, 

Some wand'rer-from the shining gates of day; 

Perchance hath dropped thee from her sunny hair, 

In tender love, beside the trodden way. 

To lift some soul o'er-burdened with its care, — 

As I, whom thou hath cheered, and blessed this day, 

Reminding me, no earthly taint is there, 

Some joys of life are sweet and pure alway. 

As from the Father's mighty love they're born. 

'Twas He, who formed this bell, and hung it there. 
A fragrant sencer 'mid the thickit's sheen; 
Where 'morn's first kiss upon the blossom fair — 
A subtle incense 'woke, by man unseen. 
Pure as a sinless heart's most holy prayer 
When God's dear throne there falls no veil betweeli; 
So doth His mercies greet us every where — 
Like scattered blossoms 'mid the way-side greeri. 
'Though adverse winds blow bleak, and lorn. 



Holy Savior, our own dear King, 
Our young lives to thee we bring ; 
We thank thee for thy presence dear, 
God bless our friends both far and near; 
'Tis sweet to look, and trust and pray, 
To thee, our Savior every day. 
Keep us good and pure within, 
Free from every strife and sin; 
May we advance in all things good, 
"Add to our faith" as Christians should; 
Help us each day some good to do, 
We would be noble, kind and true; 
Help us all to grow in grace. 
That we may see thy holy face; 
Grant to each a starry crown 
When we lay this earth-life down. 




When I awaken from my final slumber, 
Whether my sleep be broken whether deep, 
Whether alone or 'mid a mighty number, 
It matters little so I wake from sleep 
To see the face which I have longed to see, 
To find myself where I have longed to be. 

A little slumber, yet a little folding — 

A little folding of the hands to sleep; 

A closing of the eyes then the beholding 

Of Christ the King. I think we could not keep 

So long awake except for work of His, 

Which makes life's day seem shorter than it is, 

But just an end of all that doth encumber, — 
But just an end of what the day demands, — 
And then a little sleep, a little slumber, 
And yet a little folding of the hands. 
It is so simple, why do people weep ? 
A little folding of the hands to sleep. 






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This Dictionary 
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Synonyms . 

Pronouncing Vo- 
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Printed on good grade of clear white paper, and especial care is 
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